


Victor's Mate

by Ebony_Prodigy



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Genre: African American, Angst, Assault, Blood, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Gore, Kidnapping, M/F, OC-Original Character, OFCOC, Original Female Character of Color, Sabretooth/Victor Creed (Movieverse), Sex, Sexuality, Sexuality Discrimination, Torture, Victor Creed/Sabretooth, Violence, Wade Wilson/Deadpool (Movieverse), Wade and Victor trading snubs, William Stryker - Character, interracial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Prodigy/pseuds/Ebony_Prodigy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frails are such easy prey, ignoring common sense to let virile monsters attack their innocence. For so long to Victor, frails have been nothing but playthings for his entertainment. Until there was one who dared to interrupt his humored activities with her stubborn backbone; a backbone soon to bend to his charms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncharmed Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters presented in this story. I do own Anaya and other OC's that I have made and any likeness to other comic-book characters is unintentional. Characters may appear a little OOC so I apologize ahead of time. And for those of you who expect Mr. Creed to fall in love within the first few chapters, if AT ALL, then I humbly apologize for that too, lol.
> 
> Rated M for violence, mature themes, language, and sexuality. 
> 
> Whew! Now that that's out the way, enjoy the story!

Victor Creed had a soft spot for holidays, especially concerning the ones where a dense concentration of humans gathered, like spring break.

Thousands of unsuspecting people, more so the misses, relaxed their guards to welcome senseless debauchery. Hell, picking out prey had never been so easy. Dames gorged on alcohol, partied and fucked, throwing caution to the wind. Then again, it didn't count as _prey_ because he wasn't chasing for the hunt. He would simply walk up to a drunken girl and carry her off to a deserted location, allowing them to sober up a bit before the real fun began.

How odd that those habits have altered (for the time being), finding a woman to challenge and satiate his virile urges, letting the dim-witted humans frolic about with naïve sentiments; until their stupidity drove him to revisit his signature blood shedding.

S-s-S-s-S

Creed walked into a seedy pub, feeling the need to lie low after engaging in a violent bout with several police officers. Was it really so hard for them to leave him alone? He held no fault that the cops stuck their noses in affairs of no concern to them.

Victor, at the time, confronted a stranger who happened to interfere with his "conversation" he held with a harlot. Had the man simply went about his business instead of trying to save the damsel, he would have lived to see another day. And if the deputies didn't try to play the good Samaritan role, they could've been on their way home to their loving families. This remained a habit in the life of Victor Creed, full of violence from the bearings of a young boy. He didn't care to exempt anyone from his lack of sympathy.

He strolled through the dark tavern and inhaled the various scents mingling inside, eyeing the sweaty patrons before he sidled up to the bar to order himself a beer. Once he secured him a spot on a swiveling bar stool, he noticed the barkeeper.

The barmaid looked to be an elderly woman who'd probably seen better years previous. A square-shaped jaw line with hazel-green eyes and curly bleached hair pulled into a ponytail decorated her profile. Her figure leaned on the waifish side with body fat on display. To some sad sack of flesh she'll make an easy target to a young hoodlum but Victor liked his more... lively.

Upon receiving his bottle, he turned around in his seat and scanned the rest of the scenery in the dimmed pub.

Police didn't search for thieves and criminals in this part of town because of its old buildings and faltering environments. Dealings of the illegal kind commenced in here weekly. As long as the crooks gave the crooked cops a share of their contraband proceeds, then they steered clear of this area on purpose, letting society's scum infect the place with their presence.

Victor chugged his drink, letting the cool brown liquid quench his dried throat, observing the establishment's visitors.

In the far left booth sat a 50-ish looking man with a buxom brunette across from him. Her eyelids appeared to be drawn on with a sharpie, failing to let her eye color be seen; that black shit shrouded its hue. She kept flipping her hair over her shoulder and extending her slim neck, creating light touches on his skin. The elder smiled wide, his slanted, pearly teeth gleaming in the overhead lamp above them.

But Victor knew this wasn't the love of his life, made painfully known by the white line showing on his wedding finger. And the woman feigned interest in him; a barely concealed thigh holster outlined in the tight red, knee-high dress she wore. Her john probably stood somewhere near if any trouble had blossomed.

Creed shifted his focus to the other side of the bar, noticing two young teens. Her rosy pink cheeks matched well with her sun-kissed skin. Bone straight, golden-brown hair enhanced her heart-shaped face. The boy at the table appeared more interested in his poison of choice rather than his girlfriend, who looked like she wished to take this night back. If her freshly deflowered scent gave any indication, then he remained positive that her first time procured disappointment.

He could see it now, the boy worked his charm on her just to get a piece of her ass. If Creed judged solely by her facial expression, he would say tremendous disappointment settled in her physique. She probably filled her head with those sappy romance novels telling of how the girl had a 'pleasant orgasm' with the one she would 'spend the rest of her life' with.

As if the teenager read her thoughts, he glanced over to her and smiled half-assed. Victor proved himself correct when the look of longing and expectance shone bright through her eyes. The teen male pumped her with a few, hard strokes before he emptied himself into her.

Her first time had been awful.

He could snatch her up and show her what it's really like to have her cherry popped by a professional. And just for her he would tread slowly, making sure he roamed over every inch of her body. He'll take his time finding out her sweet spots and what makes her toes curl inward; to let her forget her first sexual encounter she'll regret forever.

But for things such as these, his limited patience ran its course. Sex to him, when short on time, involved pulling it out, sticking it in, emptying itself, and tucking it back. Kids these days don't know a damn thing about doing anything right.

He finished scanning the degenerates of the bar with a dispassionate sigh, about to order one more bottle when a particular mingling of scents stood out from the rest. Blackberries and vanilla mixed in with a faint coppery scent tickled his senses.

Creed inhaled long and hard until his curvy nose lead his face to where the scents originated, vision landing on a female sitting sideways alone at a table. From this angle, her side profile appeared pleasant to his eyes, wondering if he would see the other half of her visage; the lighting in this place accentuated the physique of her body.

He watched her bring her forefinger up to lick a red substance, trailing her finger around her mouth in a lazy manner. Despite how casual and calm she seemed, he couldn't shake the feeling of her non-human status. Then again, _eccentric_ people inhabited the world who did all kinds of crazy shit.

As he fixated on the innocent yet strangely erotic act, her other features came into focus. Soft and creamy skin the shade of espresso stretched over her body, the light she sat under showed how even and smooth it viewed. Straight blue-black hair settled across the middle of her back; the part of her mane angled her slim face. The bartender behind him cleared her throat before she yelled for 'Anaya' to come and get her drinks. She sighed before she stood to retrieve her order.

"Anaya," said Creed with slow purpose as if he tasted her name, figuring she'd be the winner for his lively excursion.

She didn't look little though, judging by her shapely curved legs. Probably reaching to a height of six feet, five eleven without shoes. She practically towered over many of the below-than-average stature males, making sure to give her own indignant snub at the various men that stopped their actions to drink in her curves.

Miss Anaya wouldn't fit the runway model world with her curves, sure to stick out like a definite sore thumb among her scrawny-limbed counterparts; perhaps one of those music groupies that fucked the brains out of those celebrities? But she didn't seem the type of person to have that kind of profession. Something about her commanded a regal aura, very mysterious and enticing. Approaching the bar she looked at Victor, her eggplant-hued eyes sparkling in the dim lights.

_That seems like a mutie to me._ Not too many people trotted around with that type of eye color, and there stood a high doubt that a birth defect changed the hue. The 'wanting' aspect of her doubled since he saw that small detail. Maybe she had a super power hidden beneath her cool exterior and wouldn't hesitate to let it out.

A halter V-neck barely covered her ample breasts. White jeans hugged her derriere in a snug fit. Low-heeled black boots lengthened her legs, stopping their growth by the floor. His gaze never left her, watching the subtle way she swayed her hips while she walked.

The light taste of a salty substance came to the forefront with his prolonged staring. She'll be an easy catch as an acrid heat danced on his nostrils. Victor slowly unmasked a sensual grin, seeing her slightly cringe under his harsh focus.

_The little kitten's claws are retractable_. He chuckled, erotic positions assaulted his mind.

Anaya returned to her chair, making a point to sit where she wouldn't face the leering male. Soon after, an olive-toned woman wearing her raven-dark hair in a high ponytail came flouncing back to her table, her strapless black shirt complemented the short, camo skirt and booted heels she sported with fierce authority. She stood at the same height as her purple-eyed friend though flaunted svelte curves.

"You took forever, Valerie." Anaya said with a questioning glance.

"Didn't seem like it, sweetie. If you must know, I was simply cornered by this _stud_ of a man who asked who wore the pants in my relationship. Then he begged to get inside them."

Typical. Valerie attracted attention wherever she went. "Funny, you don't have any on."

"Exactly."

"Can you at least wear a skirt that covers you up to mid-thigh the next time we go out? You're not on the market, you know. Don't want to sound like a hovering mother, but shame on you."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll do that as soon as you learn how to wear your bra, Mrs. Tit Queen."

"This shirt says I can't."

"Just like this skirt doesn't allow me to wear my _bra_ down there. Oh goody, my drink is ready." Valerie took her orange liqueur while looking into Anaya's gawking face, taking a sip merrily as if she didn't finish telling her friend she decided to forgo her underwear.

"Well, aren't you such a fucking lady." Anaya said, closing her mouth in surprise.

"Every damn day."

The purple-eyed woman grabbed her red liqueur and sipped hers too, eyes shifting to glance at the far-off look her friend displayed. Ten seconds later found Anaya snapping her fingers to regain her friend's attention from whatever she engrossed herself in.

"Earth to Valerie, come in please."

"I never left, sweetie. I'm only wondering what the fuck this guy is ogling at." Anaya had a hunch as to who she mentioned; the reason she sat looking away from him.

"The one with the horrible side burns and gray eyes?"

"Yeah, that would be him."

Anaya gave an irritated snort. "He's been gawking since I went up there to get the drinks."

"Well, he was trying to burn holes through your back when I first looked at him, then he was staring at me for glaring at him, and we are still doing this stare-off as of my speaking."

"Okay, now stop that. Maybe he thinks I'm out of place in here. I don't know..." Anaya took another sip of her drink when out of the shadows came a handsome stud, seemingly making a beeline towards her table.

"Or maybe he's waiting on you to turn around so he can give you the 'let's fuck' speech."

The mutantess coughed into her drink, patting her chest to cease her hacking while Valerie played innocent.

Well for _her_ it rang true.

Valerie Conrad didn't live as the average woman. Though she blended into the human population, biologically she is a mutant possessing the power of longevity with a twist. With most mutants cursed with the gift of an extended life, they had the ability to heal from any fatal injuries that would kill a mortal on the spot. Unfortunately for her this is not so. If she sustained such wounds, she had better hope a medically proficient hospital stood nearby.

Fortunately for her however, this longevity sprouted benefits, mainly through the various wealthy husbands she managed to outlive. She dared not tell her 'lovers' her true nature in fear of them rejecting her. After all, the ones genuinely attracted to her rested as the corrupt businessmen who saw her as a mere trophy wife.

Out of these marriages came an abundant of materialistic possessions, excluding any heirs. It's not like she didn't want any of the brats, it's the frightening thought she would have to end up burying her kin instead of them doing that to her.

Husbands blossomed and withered in her eyes, but her children, should she ever decide to have any, would take a fundamental piece away with them should there be a chance of them not inheriting her traits. She couldn't endure that happening.

And her spouses lacked in providing children anyways.

Something happens to the male sex drive when they hit their fifties, lacking the urge to keep it up. Well, _her_ husbands couldn't last for very long. She'd been to bed with some fifty and sixty-year-old men before, and their stamina leveled on par with that of a twenty-year-old. Then again, maybe it had to do with her husbands working with less than impressive dicks, what with being fat and lazy as hell.

When Anaya finished her coughing onslaught, she meekly pointed towards a man who stood next to their table, smiling in restrained excitement..

The desirable brunette sure did know how to pick them. How she flirted with the most gorgeous breeds of the male species to have her trysts with surprised her, and how she married the ugliest fuckers went beyond Anaya's comprehension.

"Are you escaping me, woman? Trying to make me file a missing persons report?"

Smooth. Suave. Sexy. Strong. Handsome. Charming. Charismatic.

One of the best types the Y-chromosome had to offer or the worst. Never in between.

Anaya showed a small smirk in admiration of the sight set before her. Shaggy, deep brown hair stopped right at his neck. Its parted style gave off that sensual, dangerous vibe or reveled in the shy type should he shake his locks into his bright, emerald irises.

"Oh, you again. You followed me," Valerie played off the surprise in a horrible manner, mouth splitting into two that would make Julia Roberts envious. She crossed her stilts and rested her chin in her left hand, hazel eyes looking everywhere except at Anaya and her handsome admirer. Her legs began to sway the heightened one back and forth; said raised leg hitting the side of Anaya's every so often.

"So, you're the guy who kept my Valerie away from me for so long," Anaya gave him a sweet grin while she returned the kick.

"Yes ma'am. This one was trying to play slick since she first saw me so I had to try and catch her. I'm Josh by the way. And what is your name, miss?" Josh held his hand out in a gentlemanly manner while his gaze pierced into Anaya.

A magnetic-like pull from his eyes made her feel a little woozy, as if she spun around in circles and needed to land on him to recuperate. She shook her head once to get rid of that sensation and offered him her hand, smirking along as she did it. "Mine's Anaya."

"Hmm, such a beautiful name for a woman who matches it." He took her palm and kissed it, offering her the smallest touch of tongue to complement the gesture.

Such a charming bastard indeed. So charming she sensed a pang of envy rise up within her at her best friend's 'free spirit'.

Questions arose once and many times thereafter about the men that Valerie had an affair with while being wedded. Sure she loved none of her husbands as they didn't really care for her, but she wore that _symbolic_ ring. Her vagina belonged to her husband and his penis to her. She should have found out beforehand if the sex might be awful before she said 'I do'.

Anaya just wouldn't' feel honest within herself if she pursued a relationship with someone and she hitched her carriage all the while. No matter if the devotion withered away and both lived in misery, separate and file for divorce to try at happiness again. But some people don't operate in that way, seeing as she couldn't love due to the mortality rate in humans. Well, at least Valerie kept the 'til death do us part' alive true, working on her third marriage...

"Why thank you," Anaya smiled bright and wide, letting the tip of her sharp incisor show. She intended to acquire his intentions with Valerie when she could have sworn she heard a low growl emanating from behind her. It sounded practically inaudible to the other two at the table, but the rumble seemed right next to her ear.

Dare she turn around and see where that sound originated? The only one in the back of her existed that menacing creep. Though he did seem somewhat animalistic in nature, so would it be safe to assume the noise belonged to him?

She took a long sip from her drink, wondering how many outside relationships Valerie chased since she knew her, and the hearts she broke in consequence. Every marriage of hers always had a potent plaything on the side where she tossed him away when the union deteriorated. By reason of failed orgasmic endings because her spouses claimed she was "frigid" in bed, she went out in secret and had fun. She explained her most pressing response to these accusations.

"Frigid is a man's word for a woman who can't orgasm in two minutes with the kind of stimulation that works _for_ him, or because of a man's lack of sexual finesse in bed."

Thus, one of the reasons she strayed and discovered a stud who passed her requirements in the sack. She came to be a sensual vixen and proud of it; something Anaya thought she followed suit in... when she caught 'the one' to express that to.

With a final resolve to let her buddy enjoy her limited time with her new beau, she sighed in deep resolve before deciding to cut her three-week vacation with her friend short. "I'm pretty sure you kiddies have somewhere else to be, after all it is a gorgeous night out tonight."

She could nearly see Josh's face twitch into a thousand happy emotions at her mentioning of what he planned on doing. He didn't want to rush the babe since she mingled with her friend, but his loins grew agitated the longer he waited.

Valerie stopped her eye roaming to settle on her gal pal, startled she would call off their girls' night early. But a lightening sensation swam through her because the anticipation to maul her anxious lover maddened her senses. However, she would not put her bestest before some dick without having her full consent, especially if they traversed the town enjoying each other's company.

Truth be told, she took this little 'vacation' to get away from her current husband. He got himself involved in some scandal with the government and she refused to act as an accessory; not for support, as his alibi, nothing at all. She should have been back to him two weeks ago, but decided her friendship betokened way more important than her flimsy union, so her girl time with the woman she grew up with persevered.

"What makes you think I want to end this evening so early, sweetie?"

"Because you're you, Val. And if you don't do something fun and exhilarating before you go home, you'll be kidnapping me to do it with you. We have time to do a whole globe of shit and you know that, so take Prince Charming here and _charm_ him." She gave Josh a knowing wink and a kick to her friend under the table, leaving no room for any arguments.

Valerie felt a deep appreciation simmer in her being, knowing her bond with Anaya endured stronger than a link of blood relation. The problems they went through over the decades of their existence withstood the test of time... and each other. She helped Anaya cope through her perplexing powers, and she with her sour relationships. She suddenly didn't want to spend her night with her sex god just for that fact alone. She tried to give one more protest to convince Anaya otherwise, albeit weakly.

"Well, yeah but-"

"Do you want your old-man pug to send a search party for you?"

"… "

"I thought so."

"So screw that old-man pug." Valerie showed her most child-like pout to prove her point.

"I hate that old-man pug." Anaya said deadpanned.

"Same here, but-"

"Then it's settled."

"But what are you going to do for fun? Unless you give your stalker a piece of your pus-"

"Oh look at the time! You two should really be heading out!"

She reached over and grabbed Josh and Valerie in each hand and pulled them from their table to the door. Valerie slid her eyes over to Victor and assessed he didn't look that bad. A little creepy and menacing-looking, but definitely worthy of a one-night stand status in her book. In her not so subtle way, she gave an alluring wink to the imposing man, conveying a hidden message at the availability of her girlfriend.

Anaya glanced back and ushered the pair to the exit, but not before giving her a firm smack on Val's posterior. She didn't have to peer behind her to see her friend batting an eye, she knew she did it from years of experience.

Once the purple-eyed woman pushed both patrons out the door, she quickly turned Valerie around and gave her an endearing hug, burying her nose in her hair; it might be a minute before they met again. During these rare moments Anaya wondered why Val tortured herself in this manner; marriage after marriage, boyfriend after boyfriend and nothing meaningful came out of it, material possessions included.

She claimed that she could spend her ill-gotten fortune with someone who would always be there for her instead of anyone with a mortality attached to their lifespan, and children were out of the picture because her mutant abilities would not be enough to save them from such feats. She convinced her countless times to have the darlings just to see what would happen, but to no avail.

When the question turned around on her, Anaya reasoned to wait for the right time, or rather, the right guy.

"I-don't-wanna-leave," Valerie pretended to mock cry, but the slight quiver in her voice said otherwise.

"You have no choice but to. Besides, I'm heading eastward and you know I won't pass by without seeing you, you big baby."

The brunette relented, but goodbyes brought forth bittersweet sentiments and she didn't like to go through with them... unless for the funerals of her husbands and flings then she cared less to.

The memories of their time together flooded Valerie's mind, pouring over her thoughts as she remembered the various shopping outlets visited, the many spas enjoyed, the multiple eateries devoured...

Valerie grabbed Anaya by the shoulders and looked her firmly in her face, all emotions gone from her expression and replaced with a stern one. "You did eat, right?"

"Um, we ate like four hours ago."

"No, the other _eat_."

"Oh, that. Nope."

"Anaya. It's been nearly two weeks!"

Anaya took a quick glance at Josh before looking back at her pal, conveying that they shouldn't discuss this in front of the handsome devil. Valerie, taking the hint, pulled him further along the building and told him to wait there, but not before grabbing his crotch in a firm hold before telling him, "Hang on a sec, gotta get some girl talk in."

She made her way to Anaya to resume talking, seeing the woman roll her eyes.

“How cute,” Anaya mocked.

“Shut up,” she mocked, “How can you go so long without sucking some poor fool dry?"

"Well when could I? We were inescapable from each other for nearly three weeks."

"You could have slipped out during the night and came back in unnoticed." Valerie's tone had moved towards a more serious, patronizing vibe. She has witnessed Anaya's _other_ side come out with a starving thirst. Her mutant powers may be exactly like the night walker, but their one weakness amplified if her sanguine requirement failed completion.

"Valerie, stop being a worrywart. Don't you see all that low-life trash infesting that place? I'm covered. And if I gotta, I'll turn this bitch inside out until I'm full. So you, little sassy ass, need not worry, okay?" Anaya showed her fangs in light of this promise to show her friend she meant business.

"Yeah well, I'm still mad at you for scaring me like that." Her tone, posture and deliverance tried to amount up to an angered person, but she failed to do so, again.

"You are a terrible liar, my dear."

"Perhaps, but I learned from the worst."

"Me?" Now it was Anaya's turn to feign a mock pout.

"No, my current husband you half-wit."

She chuckled before giving her friend another firm hug, remembering the various people in the bar that would fit the bill to appease her appetite. She didn't ponder long before the creepy stalker appeared at the forefront of her mind.

"You just have your fun, and I'll call you when I think you made it back home safe, Mrs. O'Dare-ouch!"

Valerie smirked in devilish glee, withdrawing her hand from Anaya's rear end, giving her some discipline for using the name she loathed. "I'll probably be in by tomorrow evening so call me then," she said, swaying her way back to her current beau.

Before she fully made it over there, Josh snatched her up and smothered her face in his. He walked towards the darkness to start wooing the perfect catch for the moment. He _had_ to before her "dog" came looking for her. He would never understand the female attachment to such small ugly animals.

Breaking free of his assault, she blew a half-assed kiss and a brief wave to Anaya before her Prince Charming picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a trophy to take home. Nevertheless, that wasn't very far from the truth. They turned around the corner and assimilated into the blanket of the night.

Anaya inhaled the aromas of the city, shaking her head in amusement before she headed inside just to see who would be her catch for the evening.

A fight had broke out. Two drunken teenagers lost track of whose turn it was to hit the cue ball, resulting in a pushing contest to an all-out brawl. The spectators tried to surround the opponents to encourage the quarrel, but the muscle-bound security guard that came out of nowhere stopped the uproar before it escalated. He grabbed the patrons by the scruff of their collar and threw them out the back door, not caring to check for injuries.

Copper liquid filled the woman's nostrils with tempting thoughts, savoring what harbored to become hers in a matter of moments. Why bother putting up such a struggle with the asshole in the bar when freebies waited for her outside?

Anaya's eyes flashed a crimson red at her revelation, making a beeline towards the alley. She paused by her table to drop off an extra tip, snubbing the pitiful excuses of men inhabiting the place.

The thought simmered in her mind that their blood would taste awful with the beer swimming in their bloodstream. If they drunk that much to be indecisive about whose turn gets to play, then they had to be loaded with alcohol. Alas, she cared less to put forth effort to bleed something dry, just drinking enough until she deemed someone else more worthy to do so.

Resolute in her decision, she pursued her snack before she collapsed from the metallic liquid tantalizing her senses. This will be a quick attack; neither boy would know what hit them upon descending to their deaths. Though, she should still slash the creeper that gave her that weird smile from earlier, at least he would more than satisfy her craving well into the later days of the week.

Before she got to the exit, she peeked over her shoulder to see the same stocky man staring. He'd been watching her all night; too long for her comfort. No one gazed at her for such a lengthy period without wanting to do something to her; in the sex or the murdering sense she didn't care to find out.

With that final mentation she went out the door, quickening her pace to where the two men would meet their unsuspecting fates.

S-s-S-s-S

Creed smiled wide.

He hadn't heard anything that interesting in a while.

It still wasn't shit worth mentioning, but it entertained him nevertheless.

Women talked like unrelenting robots squabbling about shit that didn't matter, as the case here. Even though they went on having their usual chat about absolutely _nothing_ , they were aware of him and his presence. The brunette tried to have a staring contest to see who would bend first, to challenge him over the rights to her sensuous friend.

He found that sexy. So sexy he almost overlooked the prude for the skeez. But something about the pallid vixen had him with second doubts. He smelled sex on her; on her clothes, on her skin and in her aura. She racked up bonus points because it meant she knew a few moves in her fucking arsenal, but it also told him that she used her snatch often. He needed a dame a bit more reserved than the rest, or someone who didn't radiate stale sex.

But when this 'Anaya' said the reason he bore into her so hard resulted from his interest in her, it made him forget the other broad existed. This 'Anaya' knew his attention focused on her and she tried to play it off as him being some horny freak. She got it right though, in more ways than one.

He felt rather miffed that that asshole touched her, and Victor let his displeasure at the gesture be known. Her stiffened posture told him she heard him, releasing her hand from his soon after. What put the icing on the cake provided the scene where Vicky, Verlaine, whatever her name, gave him a suggestive wink; giving him the okay to have the woman.

Victor turned around and paid for his drinks, leaving a generous tip the bartender wasn't worthy of. But since the bar high-lighted his little play thing, he would let it slide right now. He readjusted his coat once, taking big strides towards the exit in pursuance of his next meal.

"Looks like it's time to start the show," said Creed, slowly making his way out the door to begin his assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So until then, I will present you with another chapter in a short time. Thank you and I will see you later!


	2. Night Creepers

Anaya hurried through the back door into the dark and oil-slicked alley, taking little effort to bunch her leg muscles together and ascend the wall to land on the adjacent building, stalking her prey. The heightened view widened her advantage of scoping the landscape if anything should alert her.

She wondered what possessed her strange mutant gene to give her the qualities of a vampire. Why not something great like... super strength or the traits of invisibility? She would even have merit if she claimed the whole power of telepathy rather than the watered down version given to her; the ability to read thoughts and not much else.

Her creation might as well taunt actual vampires of their faults. Here lied the near-perfect breed of their race, mocking everything they stood for and she didn't have to die to become one. She inhabited the traits of a night walker but avoided their weaknesses, except for her need of blood and the powers to create more like her.

Unlike the majority of vampires, she can stand and stomach normal food lacking any nasty after affects. Yet if deprived of her life source spanning over a lengthy time, the _thirst_ peaked. However if she carried on in neglect of ripping someone's throat out her cravings for raw meat skyrocketed. The red venison sufficed until she got her hands on real meat, but she'd rather have the original pickings. But none of it mattered. She stalked above two specimens with the potential to steer her towards her goal.

Nothing could explain the sweet, rejuvenating bliss when she suckled fresh blood, sensing an invigorating elation pour into her veins. On a good run, she survived a full week omitting the sustenance to tie her over.

She went three weeks without feeding her thirst.

In absence of her usual quarry she noticed the wretched mortals increasing in number. She believed she did society a favor. Without a soul like hers, the scumbags of the earth―that nobody would miss―would have claimed a bigger stake in it. The degenerates (murderers, rapists and drug-dealers) remained a staple in the world, just in different formats. They evolved and changed as technological changes inhabited the nation, making corruption easier for the depraved to continue to be crooked.

These same crooks had the most foul-tasting plasma.

A trait of hers, taking decades to hone, allowed her the comfort to "sniff out" the good blood from the bad. Diseases ran rampant in this part of town, and more than once did she find herself on the wrong end of faulty crimson liquid. Sweetened, salty, acid, thick, thin or clumpy blood were obvious signs that the carrier housed a disease or abused drugs.

Once she pinpointed her target it was hopeless for the prey to escape. Leaving the tainted person to roam and plague the rest of the populace wasn't an option either. They often found themselves in the middle of an alley with their throats slit open, lifeblood mixing in with the dark asphalt to merge with the earth. She blamed it on her upbringing; sometimes holding onto these vicious tendencies.

Born in an era where ethics and morals did not exist had shaped her outlook; what had thought to be right and wrong wove together like two pieces of string and stayed liked that for many decades until someone gathered courage to stand up and say no.

In her youth she killed people, a vengeful act to let go of her suffering forced onto her for her first ten years of life. Her streak drove an insatiable lust, sneaking into houses at night to drain the vindictive of life, leaving their wives to wake up in the morning soaked in their spouse's blood.

An orphaned, mutant slave child growing up in the 1850's pushed her to survive, to disown her regret and humanity to see another day, be it stealing food from the local market to draining a poor bastard dry. She had no direction towards positive reinforcement or a parental figure to guide and console her. Nor did she have anyone to explain what went on with her and what she could do about it. She wondered if death would befall her without her unique abilities.

Her need of the red liquid placed her hunger at an interval of four hours; succumbing to her thirst-laden rage where she bit into anything to satiate her urges. Often she woke up with no recollection of what she did or sucked the life out of. It _scared_ her. She thought to be the only one of her kind and she burdened herself into this mindset, destined to carry on alone like this forever.

By some miraculous discovery did Anaya come to understand and embrace herself as a whole. And she did so upon the chance of running into a colonial, runaway bride named Valerie. The rest... is history.

Crickets halted their chirping. Birds of the night stopped their specialty calls. The wind restrained from blowing a cool, dusky breeze. Nature itself silenced its nightly ministrations; all in a sense to see what this strange, elusive woman intended to do.

The huntress jumped onto the next building, slowing her pace after the two drunken idiots shoved each other in the alley, conversing with slurred words about whose turn it is to pee and how much money the other owed.

Alcohol swimming in one's veins never tasted right, but it will tie her over until tomorrow. Then again, she should travel to a hotel and sleep the day away. That way when the time came, she would feel invigorated enough to catch a more deserving kill. Still, the smartest option rested to go back inside and pick some fool up, take him in the restroom and do the deed there.

However, those two ideas might require her to exert a bit of energy she didn't care to waste, so she opted to continue with her current plan at hand. Anaya's chest heaved, letting her nails extend and her canines lengthen. She readied to pounce on the unsuspecting drunks and call this evening to an end.

"Dude…you owe me…twenthy-twen…twenty dollars." A young blonde boy quipped into the night air, losing his footing several times trying to stand up and walk his way over to the other inebriated male.

"Piss of you mudderfucker, I- _hiccup_ -got my own divorce to take- _hiccup_ -to the zoo-" Before another word could leave the brunette's lips, the contents of his potatoes and meatloaf dinner left the safety of his stomach, pouring into the alley.

"Okay... I'll take the blonde one," Anaya's face pulled into a grimace, seeing the youth wretch his stomach out onto the floor. Upon closer inspection, she discerned young traits on their profiles, each having almost feminine-like features.

Babies. They're nothing but high-school babies being somewhere they had no business. It was probably safe to assume they agreed to sneak out of their comfortable homes and meet up for a boys' night out. In her heart, she felt a pang of remorse for the situation they trapped themselves in. An instance of the many 'let-them-be' adventures they won't be able to tell the children they never had.

Her legs pushed against the floor, hungry and ready to make her leap on the boy and end his forsaken life. Before she could pounce a tall, looming figure leapt towards her prey. Apparently she wasn't the only hunter out on the hunt tonight.

* * *

Creed jumped on the blonde, pressing an elongated claw in the middle of his clavicle. Blood trickled out of the tear before shooting up in a geyser, the teenager reaching up to cover the wound with his hand. Gurgled, choking sounds erupted as the teen asphyxiated on his own blood; opening his mouth to release a strangled breath of air that never came.

He turned to the brunette that finished emptying his stomach, clearing his throat to alert the male to his presence. The young man wiped his lips, looking the opposite way to see who called him. Creed huffed, grasping the boy in a headlock before sharply twisting his neck to the right.

Anaya narrowed her eyes from her spot on the roof, several jumbling thoughts swirling around in her head. Her conscious sprang to life, yelling at her to high-tail it to try this feeding thing again tomorrow. Another observation, probably coming from her womanly-wiles, sized up the male, taking in his broad build and rugged, handsome face.

Men don't move like that or kill with potent efficiency, clean with his attacks and lethal in its delivery. Could he... be a mutant? Is he like her, hiding from the hate humans radiated towards them and their kind?

After wiping some dirt off his trench coat, he beckoned to the woman with a bloodied claw.

Hmm. Well he has charisma.

_No. No. No. Those 'kinds' are nothing but trouble. He's the enemy, remember. Flee the scene and try again tomorrow. Do not start a confrontation with him!_

Her conscious sounded off clear. She couldn't match up to him, especially in her current state. Something about him emitted this dangerous quality, a strong sense of pride he wore like a perfume hugging his frame.

All though...

She did not frighten easy at the sight of a stocky bastard. Anaya had killed a fair share of men bigger than him. But that's all they were. Mortal m _en_. She hadn't faced off against a male mutant this large in stature before. Who knows, males often bluffed on their oh-so-fearsome presence and they loved to show off to women. With a firm nod she set her mind to meet this brutish creature, intending to supp him dry. On the chance that he proved to be too much, she can retreat to safety. The outcome seemed positive.

Gathering strength in her legs she leapt off the building, landing with a soft thud on her toes. Legs lengthened to her full height to appear stiff-lipped of his aura. Standing about ten feet away, his figure managed to loom over hers, creating this intimidating wall to her affront. Her eyes left his to glance at the two bodies on the ground; the blonde man's neck smothered in blood and the brunette lying in his own dinner.

Her face pulled together in disgust with narrowed eyes, noticing him eyeing the curves of her body. That little echo in the back of her head scratched her brain, warning her to leave this instant. Instead she persisted, ignoring all the signs her conscious pushed her to do.

"Looking for something?" His voice rang deep, reverberating in his chest to bounce off the walls as if he stood right beside her. He held one of those heavy voices, the ones belonging to a rhythm and blues vocalist.

She shook her head before answering, clearing any bad habits Valerie left for her. "What'd you go and do that for?"

"Do what?"

"That," she stuck her chin out to point to the teens on the ground.

He followed the indicated direction, seeing her neck elongate in motion. A neck he desired to suckle on. "I just wanted a chance to get to meet you."

That's his excuse? "Why didn't you say hello back in the bar?" Did he plan on meeting her for more nefarious means, because he could have walked to their table then.

"Needed a more... informal setting to do it in."

Anaya scrutinized their surroundings. A surrounding layered in the stench of piss and blood, of decay and grime and sweat, of alcohol and... someone's lurched dinner. Oh this provided an intimate setting all right; something befitting for _animals_ to dwell in.

The dark clouds shifted in the wind, concealing the moon as if knowing the duo's true form geared to come to light, hiding them from the eyes of the world.

"Is this environment good enough?" The distaste in her tone held a hint of mockery.

"Yeah, it'll do."

A pointed tongue stuck in her cheek, reading into his intentions since his charm wore off. “Is there something you want?”

What person wanted to meet another in an alley save for prostitution or―in this case―murder? She assumed he acted on his perversions towards her but now he just seemed off.

He didn't seem like a mutant, but when he murdered those two boys her suspicions held no merit with how he leapt similar to a giant cat. But what about her? Did he infer that she was one and if so when? Back in the pub? When she jumped on the building without a ladder? Did his desire to know if others like them lingered around here?

"Oh, you're spunky. Get right down to business, don't you? Okay then, I think that ass of yours would look better if it bent over facing the sky."

Talk about being blunt.

A plush lip turned upwards, muscles stiffening in response yet he kept quiet. His intentions could be seen in the bar initially but she didn't know why the statement surprised her. "Wow, don't we have different agendas, huh? Mine's to bleed you dry."

"Ha!" Creed gave out a sharp bark of laughter. "As if you can."

He saw her as a brittle flower, petals ripe and defenseless to be plucked, shaming the beauty she once had. This arrogant asshole challenged her, doubting her abilities and tossing it aside akin to a used napkin.

“Don't talk down to me you prick! Cowards talk big to compensate for that little worm in their basement.” Anaya crossed her arms, cheeks clenching over his opinionated assumptions.

Maybe her temper should reel itself, a heavy ambiance settled in the air coming from his direction. Like she strode into hostile territory, having no way to retreat without taking damage. Hmph, serves him right because he shouldn't cast aside what she can and can't do. But she had no leeway with his abilities so he should leave the insult alone.

He took one step forward, testing the boundaries to her reaction. He proceeded with another, seeing her eyes narrow either in warning or suspicion. Voting for the former seemed easier because her feisty mouth called to have it stuffed.

"You're the blonde's replacement since you killed him." She let her fangs show in a smile that should have sent him packing. Instead, he appeared unfazed by the display, his profile masked by a blank expression. Anaya second-guessed herself, feeling the need to run fast and away. But the hidden scent of fresh blood titillated her senses like no other.

Her mind screamed to throw in the white towel but her body yearned for a fight, swayed by the precious lifeblood flowing in his veins. Her strength dwindled, calling on her last reserves to see her through this, to promise the fulfilling nectar to charge her energies. Even though her conscious sensed her defeat, her thirst drove her will to say the opposite.

"And contrary to what you may think, there's no fucking on the first date."

Victor etched a mischievous grin, a sudden heat in his stomach heading southwards. She may have those meaningless morals, but he didn't. If he wanted to wait for sex, he might as well claim the girl as a steady or marry the bitch. Neither occupied a date in his calendar, and she had better learn that now.

Prior to offering a rebuttal she ran to him, a hard and powerful strike to the jaw turned his face to the side. He faced her, thin lips exposing his own set of canines to her puny ones. She did that cute little scrunchy thing with her nose when she threw a right hook, catching it in his left hand.

Her plush mouth trembled from his claws digging into the flesh of her knuckles, trying to wrench it away but it held fast in his solid grip. Her foot elevated between his legs, but he closed his thighs around her ankle, holding on tight. Growing irritated with his quick reflexes, her left foot caught him in his temple, letting her go after she briefly stunned him.

The opening spurned her to act, assembling her molecules behind the feral mutant to jump on his back. Sharpened teeth sunk into his neck, strong legs locking onto his sides for anchorage and support. Fresh blood splashed on her tongue, savoring the enriching fill to get lost in its intoxicating effect. Her acute senses awakened to function at their full potential, but he stopped her charge midway.

Victor grasped her leg, pulling it forward then pivoting on his right foot, flinging her into the cement wall with enough force to cave it inwards. He strolled over to her downed position and grabbed her. On the defensive she kneed him in the groin, kicking him in the head to roll a needed few meters from her.

A strange interwoven appreciation amused and annoyed him at her stubborn nature, recovering on his feet to continue this little game. He liked her gusty attitude, able to throw a few punches and kicks other than screaming and running away.

Frails didn't have a fighting bone in their body, crumbling in on themselves instead of standing their ground. Hell, a time or two he would give them the chance to escape and gain a big head start. It's something with their spatial reasoning to make them to turn around and run _into_ his reach again. But this one deserved a 'special' gift just for giving him a challenge.

"You're not one for subtlety," Anaya wheezed, closing her burning eyes and shaking her head to regain some composure. Spiking jolts pierced through her body, sensing a throbbing pain resonating in her arm. She supported herself on her hands and knees, her pristine white jeans dirtied from the sludge in the alley. "You are giving me a workout I— nngh!"

Her breath fled her lungs after he charged at her, punting her in her stomach. Maybe this harbored a bad idea, wishing to have listened to her inner voice and not her instincts. She dared not dream of him taking advantage of her, vicious tendencies aside. And there stood the chance he might kill her if she submitted, just to entertain his sadistic streak.

Why didn't he approach her about possibly having a one-night stand? The results of him getting a yes from her was 60-40, but at least she would contain some insight to his personality!

Thick fingers wove into her hair, pulling her up to face him. Her stiffened body pulled from his touch but he held fast onto her, wrapping his other hand around her waist. Eyelids blinked to clear her eyesight but his profile came up blurry whenever she looked at him.

She placed her hands on the upper part of his chest, appearing weak and docile to his dominant persona. Women can be just as cunning to play an opportunity to their advantage, caressing the male ego prior to crushing it.

"Now, Miss Thing, we can either do this the easy or the hard way. The choice is yours-"

"Fuck you," she said in a peeved voice, head lolling to the right so she could try to rest against his chest.

Glancing at her calm form she probably realized her loss, relaxing into his strong embrace. The feral chuckled, thinking she bumped her head a little too hard against the wall. If she opened her shadowed eyes, she would see his possessive nature. She was the fascinating toy he wanted to have, playing with eager attention until the thing bored him.

He didn't understand some women. They waged war inside their minds, battling their senses whether to indulge in their desire to fuck him, but he'd show a tad of dominance and flirting (in his sense of the word) and they caved. And he gave them the fuck of their lives, deep thrusts, harsh bites and suckling nips made them beg for him. If she cut this 'I'm a prude' act then she will enjoy it the same.

Victor slid his hand down to sweep the rump of her thick derriere, giving the shapely muscle a few appreciative slaps as it wiggled. He tilted her neck to the side, running the curve of his nose against her throat, deeply inhaling the sweet smell of blackberries, vanilla and blood. "See how much better things are when you just... go with the flow?" He combed his fingers through her hair, savoring her shivers.

"In my favor, sure." Purple eyes lifted to gray ones, steeling her resolve against his intense focus. His heart strummed in a steady beat, sensing his calm disposition and lack of expectance to surprise him with an attack. In the same breath he could plan her counterattack, staying on his guard since he had a sample of what her abilities displayed. Buttering his ego a little wouldn't hurt before she smashed it into pieces.

"Asking will get you a lot further than taking. You don't need to chase me like a loon."

"I doubt that. Giving a bit of a chase is what makes it fun."

"I _doubt_ that. If you force someone to fuck you, then you're the desperate one." Did he have something to compensate for to take advantage of a fragile (at the moment) woman? Is he trying to build up his manhood by bullying things smaller than him?

What is this guy's motives by the way, other than the obvious quick fuck?

He can search for another girl to do that shit with. Anaya indulged in a few fixes in her life, but her experiences with them weren't memorable. She tolerated bullshit from men with complex issues as much as a bee tolerated an outsider messing with its home. There didn't inhabit a need to 'set them straight' because her extended lifespan outlived their trifling deeds.

Anaya felt indifferent towards the whole thing. And if he indeed thought with his dick she might agree to the union... before he killed those two.

_Enough with the jibber-jabber, stroke his inflated ego and flee_. Such a shame, he might have shown her a fun time if he wasn't such an asshole.

"No, it just makes me horny." Creed countered, smacking her ass again for good measure.

“I should be screaming bloody murder to the world right about now."

"Cause' the big, bad wolf captured the frail sheep?" He nipped and licked her neck, enjoying how she jerked and pressed into him. Perhaps she retired her stubborn ways; she didn't have a reason to back out of this, not that he'd allow her.

"No, because the sheep turned out to be a wolf, too!"

Her ten claws punctured into the flesh of his torso while biting down on his pulse, teeth gripping his muscle as blood flooded into her mouth. The plan called to nip him then scale the walls in haste but she couldn't pry her teeth from his throat. Her thirst moved towards a satiated calm, delighting in the taste his blood gave. If only she let herself off a tad sooner...

Creed chuckled in mirth, knowing she would try to pull off something so slick and conniving. As his annoyance grew for her false seduction, he still had to give her credit for her boldness. Any other woman taking the approach of flirtation would be unconscious, but somehow he liked that sexy but pitiful challenge she retaliated with. Just thinking about what else she hid made him anxious to pound inside her.

"The easy way it is." Creed muttered before clutching her neck, crushing her trachea and lifting her up and away from his body. Her long legs flailed away, nails digging into his hands leaving vivid, red lines. Victor didn't flinch, reveling in the light stinging of her futile efforts. He set her down, enjoying her squirming in his grip. She needed to feel the transitioning of power filter through her bones shifting into his core.

He hoisted her off the ground until her tippy-toes kissed the gravel, enclosing his fingers tighter. To taunt her vulnerability he leveled her out, loosening his hold on her throat without letting go then repeating the maneuver. Her hand came up to tap his in what he hoped would be submission, catching on to his puppeteering.

"I am not... a rag doll, so can you please stop choking... me. You're killing off my nerves.” Her words strained, choking her way through her speech. Even in the face of adversity, she still had enough spunk in her to crack jokes about her dilemma. It added points to her appeal to him... and he wanted to shut her up before the interest dwindled due to her chatty mouth.

"Why sure, darling. Wouldn't want you completely brain-dead for tonight's events."

"Huh?"

His mind and body waged war concerning what to do about their _date_. Common sense said to dip inside her velvet pleasures while he still had time, yet his tongue wanted to devour her voluptuous curves in detail. His line of work didn't allow him the freedom of distractions and this would be frowned upon by his commander... but what the hell. She earned it.

Placing one hand on her jeans and the other on her neck, he pushed her back with concentrated force, ramming her into a dumpster in the alley, thinking the hardened object could aid in her taking a nap. Her body collided with the steel in perfect fashion; her head and back hit the front of the dumpster and her hip and legs collided to the side.

Audible cracks echoed in his ears, feeling his fingers twitch in remembrance of the bones he had broken...for business and for pleasure. He missed those assignments, filling his days with humor over his target's pained cries, locking their tortured faces in his memories to call upon them for a laugh.

Creed dropped down on one knee, examining the damage and assessing how long it would take her to heal... well judging if she did, but he seemed pretty sure since she glued herself to his throat.

A sizeable gash marred the upper right side of her forehead had, blood slowly pooling out of the wound to drip on the floor. He felt her shoulder out of its socket, gearing to pop the bone back in its place but thought better of it; didn't want to hear her whining, just yet, from the pain it would cause. Giving her a once-over everything looked good, like she passed out from heavy drinking but the interior of her frame took some damage.

The moon removed itself from the protection of the clouds, uncovering the acts any creatures of the night committed. A radiant gloss illuminated the comatose huntress, radiating this ethereal sheen on her skin highlighted by the light of the moon. Curbing his scrutiny in admiring her looks he dipped his head, taking a long lick of that smooth, luscious skin.

His restraint cracked into small lines, wondering how much longer he could control his appetite in expectance of the meal before him. Large hands reached out, cupping each soft breast, quelling the rising urges to claim her now. Palms ran down the sides of her curves, stopping his appreciation when her hip bone seemed to protrude outwards more than it should..

She wouldn't be waking up, giving him plenty of time to take her home and entertain her. Maybe even let her use his premises to make herself comfortable... if she wanted to play a little game of cat and mouse, that is.

Paying or stealing an escort didn't tickle his fancy. Though they had quite the experience, he held lacking interest in diving into an already worn-out girl. The aroma of sex permeated into their skin. No matter how much they showered, their scent melded with it. This little Anaya however, didn't have such a perfume on her, like she had written off its useful purpose. Frankly that's what turned him on some of the time; a woman that didn't go around having her snatch all used up.

He grabbed her by her waist and lifted her over his shoulder, taking note of the groans she emitted from her pained physique. "Shoulda just went with the flow girlie." He traveled in swift steps out of the alley, staring to the sky and smiling in triumph, giving light smacks to her behind as he faded into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't want anyone to think that I condone any of this stuff, I'm just trying to write Mr. Creed in his element, lol.


	3. Impulse Decisions

Nights dawned a fierce presence in Victor's realm. A creature's true soul emerged from the darkness, unveiled and naked for the world to see. They didn't cower behind various masks or pretend to be something they're not to escape judgment as outcasts.

Little Miss Feisty blended in with the normal civilians until she revealed her identity, and she did not disappoint. She bent the rules of normalcy by gnawing on his neck, Victor discovering the tip of her iceberg, curiosity piqued to uncover the rest of her secrets.

He walked along the path, slowing his tracks after the bar's rear door opened. The whore with the caked up face and her nightly suitor stumbled into the back street. The duo stopped laughing, sober eyes noticing him and the unconscious hell-cat.

He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. It was only a matter of time before the bodies further in the alley sought discovery. Bloodshed seemed a fitting vice to do at the moment, but the woman on his shoulder stole his focus. The feral wanted to ignore them and head on his way but they shuffled closer to him.

"Had too much fun on her girls' night out." Victor faked a polite expression, lips pulling back in a sneer once he passed the bastard.

"Ah, I know what you mean. Can't take them anywhere. Women are like garbage disposals, always taking in too much-" His paid entertainment pulled him deeper into the alley, covering his mouth with hers while Victor cared less about his ramblings.

His pace quickened, knowing those two would draw attention to the corpse, then he would have to kill them both. He almost tasted freedom when static erupted in his ear

_"Wade to chia pet, Wade to chia pet, come in you bushy animal. Is this thing on? I'm using it right, right? Do I gotta say 'over' every time I talk or finish-"_

"Leave me alone Wade." Victor growled, his placid mood souring towards irritation from hearing that insipid tone.

_"Ah, so it does work! Oh, I would but you wouldn't respond to grandpa's, err... Stryker's calls. He's quite upset you know. Been trying to reach you for over an hour."_

"I told Stryker I'm off for for a week."

_"We all were! I was in the middle of watching this episode of 'I Love Lucy' with the Superman dude. Hey, how cool would that be if you had X-ray vision to look at all the tits in the world-"_

"Wade!"

_"-But we got to take a trip to Uruguay. Some overlord is holding a mutant in his possession."_

"Fuck off, Wade."

_"Ooh, somebody's grumpy. Aww, the wittle cat mad because he broke his wittle nail?"_

"I'll break something on you if you don't shut it!"

_"Okay, but try not to touch the face, it's my moneymaker."_

Fantastic. Three weeks in the company of Stryker's orders had Victor catching this or killing that. Memories from these battles prickled his insides with a bloated, jovial feeling at first, soon filling the space with boredom the more monotonous the assignments became.

The screams varied when he fought against the opposing mutants, but their shaky legs and widened eyes posed no challenge when he overpowered them.

The men Stryker put together with the utmost confidence slowly veered towards extinction. The other morons developed a soft stomach for what the colonel requested of them, leaving Victor to clean up their mess.

For the last two months, the team traveled across continents to collect paperwork and valuables piquing Stryker's interest. The work wasn't all in vain, though. Victor submitted to the pleasures of fucking and killing those who stood in his way. But even that irked his nerves because he frolicked on another's schedule. He wanted to relax, just take a one-week break to gather himself.

_"Hey! You still there? Here kitty, kitty, kitty. You don't want to keep old man ass from getting to his applesauce… whoops!"_

_"Victor, where are you?"_ The gruff voice came in over the little earpiece, and from the tone of it he didn't sound too pleased.

"Not anywhere near you, Stryker. I'm on the other side of town taking a break-"

_"Break's over. You are needed back over here at the extraction point-"_

"Well, I'm not. So you're gonna have to do whatever it is without me."

_"No we're not. We will pick you up at the house you have in the wilderness. I need you to be on board on this assignment. You will be picked up at 1800 hours. Be ready then."_

Silence met his ear, returning to heat the nightly sounds, Victor growling in a thick timbre with his current predicament. His choices lied to satisfy himself with the frail now, or haul ass to his abode and lock her in the basement. Such bullshit! He didn't feel like doing this shit. What's the purpose of his self-imposed break if he kept responding to these calls?

This kitten had some spice to her pitiful attacks, alluding to the notion that she _might_ fuck him if the circumstances tipped in her favor. She hid something beneath her exterior, leaving a mysterious allure he wanted to reveal all on his own. But how can he explore her if he had to leave? She was his prize to claim to himself and letting her go wasn't in his agenda. Vivid images swirled in his thoughts, bending her over and plunging into her moist depths filed his mind but he would be short on time.

The better option said to take Anaya to the house and imprison her, but how soon will she escape, if she did? Her body took direct blows and her injuries may suffer longer to reach functionality again. He should return to her within a day or two, Stryker hating to waste time on trivial matters. His lodgings rested in a remote location, surrounded by wilderness and without the relevance of neighbors.

The house's interior should change her mind in wanting to stay, if she broke the door down. If she escaped, he would track her scent and finish their date.

The feral reached the sidewalk, soon to realize his dilemma of being without transportation. He scaled the mountainous region from his loft by foot, enjoying the fresh air tickling his nose. He'd like to trek back the same way but it would take too long. Hot-wiring a car stood as his only option. At times like these he wished to have teleportation, scaling miles of land within seconds.

Looking at the drab selection of battered and home-painted cars made him internally scoff. He didn't need a classy ride, but he had standards to maintain. Scanning the area again, he looked further down to his left and smiled. Wide.

Victor' eyes landed on a black 1966 Dodge Hemi Charger with an electric razor grille and hideaway lights. Sleek, gray leather seats complemented the cleanliness of the car while the tinted windows gave it a look of sexual mystery.

He'd seen this bad boy while on a shit mission up north, doing away with a frail up there. She assumed he took an interest in the vehicle more than he did with her. Right assumption, wrong outcome. He wondered who it belonged to; ruining such a beauty would be a pity due to hot-wiring purposes.

He glanced out his peripheral vision to the unconscious woman, but her ass blocked his sight. Could it be that she would drive something full of mystique and sleek appeal? Searching her pockets,squeezing each cheek to quell his rising desire, he touched a hard surface in her front pocket. Digging into said part of her pants produced… a key to a Hemi Charger.

"You are full of surprises aren't ya, frail?" he said, chuckling to himself.

He unlocked the passenger door and set her inside, hearing the shrill vocals at what he presumed to be the discovery of the dead boys. A small groan bubbled in her throat. He smirked at the sensual sound, pressing his lips to hers to bite the soft labiums before pulling away. "I know baby, we'll be home soon enough."

More commotion clattered throughout the night air, prompting Victor to pick up the pace before someone came out and accused him for leaving the scene. He hummed in appreciation when the seat conformed his 6'3 frame, relaxing his muscles to rest in its comfortable state. The engine revved in a thunderous roar before he pulled off speeding down the highway...or trying to do so. The burly man furrowed his eyebrows when the car gained speed slowly, morphing into a neutral calm once the thing sped up, disappearing into the night.

**S-s-S-s-S**

Victor rolled up to his dwelling with fifteen minutes to spare, wishing he took the long way home to enjoy the scenery. He moved over to the passenger side and picked up the supine woman, making the short distance to the front door. Out of the gained houses since his time with Stryker, this place reigned as his favorite in viewing the open wilderness. The smell of pine cones and fertile land connected him with nature. And his house reflected that.

The house looked more like a log mansion than a cabin. The abode had an earth-tone, wood-work setting to it, fashioned out of oak trees in various shades of brown and red. On the inside his living room had an olive-green corner group that complemented the shaggy sandy brown carpet and the deep-orange shaded walls. Murals and pictures of hunting scenes adorned the surface. A fireplace of brick and marble made Victor's nest seem that much more hospitable.

A large house is too big for one person, but Victor liked the seclusion. No one saw his actions. No authority hovered to find the rotting carcasses of past victims or no family to care for. Guests were limited to fragile little playthings keeping him company but their visits lasted two days, his tolerance decreased as time passed.

He moved Anaya off of his shoulder and carried her bridal-style to the basement. Making his way down the stairs a pulling sensation told him to forget the mission and stay. Whenever the stress ate at him because of his hectic schedule he would come up here and let his animalistic side roam free. Trampling through the refreshing pastures and the rocky hillsides eased his troubles. He melded with the animals, switching to predator mode until he tracked and captured his prey.

Most people calmed themselves with ludicrous amounts of money, women, and power. But this is the relaxation he chose, even over a good fuck. Yet he couldn't deny that being here alone with a good lay proved just as relaxing compared to materialistic shit. Now he had to hold off his leisure for something the other dicks didn't have the balls to do.

Victor balanced Anaya on his lone arm to fish out a key to unlock the basement. Usually, he kept his playthings hidden until he readied to use them, unless if they earned their stay then they made themselves comfortable upstairs.

When he opened the door his nostrils submerged into the mixed aromas of copper, salt from dried tears, must, and acerbic feminine odors. A blood-stained mattress provided little comfort for company and a dusty ceiling fan controlled the putrid scents from reaching obscure levels.

Leaving her existed as a gamble, but he knew the risks. This room had only one way out, and he held the only key. Unless she teleported to the other side of the door or knocked it down when she awakened, then she was lost in this unknown place.

Various stains of reds and browns adorned the bed and the granite floor. Walls once painted a murky green chipped had off in many places, fingernail marks scratching into into the structure. Cobwebs and dust formed in the corners, sordid pieces of stained clothing hung off the corner of the mattress. It truly looked like a dungeon.

The soft whirring of chopping blades reached his ears, reminding him of why he brought her here. Taking one more glance at the exotic creature, he leaned over and dropped her on the mattress, exiting the room with a heavy stride.

Victor deeply inhaled, knowing his thoughts would wrap around her, wondering if she'll be strong enough to break free. He wondered why we came down with his whimsical nature, wanting to try something different from his usual way of catching dames. Trudging up the stairs, he went to grab his duffel bag out of his living room closet for emergencies such as these.

A few yards west landed a helicopter in a dusty clearing ,Victor locking the house and traveling in the indicated direction. Five minutes later he approached the metal bird, the door opening to reveal a smiling Wade hanging out the side. The mutant's scowl hardened, preparing for the irritating mercenary to provoke him as childish entertainment.

He rubbed his hand against his pocket, nestled within rested a spare key he found inside her visor. Knowing this brought a small grin to his face, uncertainty loosening its grip as to her successful chances of escaping. The smug look disappeared shortly after, Wade snapping his fingers to quicken his pace, his left eye twitching in restraint. Maybe if he thought about the sleeping beauty in his basement, then the voyage wouldn't be so bad.

"Let's go chia pet!!" he heard the merc scream at the top of his lungs.

Then again, perhaps not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And the plot thickens…dun dun DUN! This chapter was amazingly short compared to what I usually do, so I guess that's a good thing?
> 
> I know Victor is this highly sadistic sexual creature and he's always doing something that shocks you. Shouldn't really be a surprise when you see it in the comics, but he still gives off that shock value, doesn't he?
> 
> And even though Stryker and Co. is mentioned in the story, they won't have a much bigger part until much later in the story.
> 
> Drop me a note and tell me what ya think!


	4. Wild Surroundings

_"What are you," demanded the woman, sitting on the floor in horror, staring at the bone claws that sprawled out of her son's knuckles. A young boy focused on his palms in silence, gazing at the instruments who killed this person, this stranger that murdered the man who he believed to be his father. In the truth of light the intruder he stabbed was his_ real _father and his mother lied to him about his lineage. His heart constricted, flooding the organ with a pressing weight, a clarity sinking in that he was the reason for his ruined family._

_Without looking back the child ran out of the house into the woods, scared for his life with his abnormality. Sprinting in his red robe he felt weightless, tackled down by the servant boy who stood by his side through thick and thin. The youth scrambled to his feet, holding his hands out in front of him in a defensive stance, uninformed if the hireling, confirmed to be his half-brother, planned to kill him for killing their father._

_"I didn't mean it!” said the boy in the robe._

_"Yes you did!” retorted the older brother, holding on to the youth's shoulders. "He deserved it, and you gave it to him. We're brothers Jimmy, do you realize that? And brothers protect each other. You have to be hard now, hard so they can never touch us.”_

_The youth didn't want to be hard. He wanted to be in his warm bed, drinking hot soup and talking to the young man about his day. He needed things to return to normal. Becoming a fugitive to stay alive wasn't something he desired to subject himself to. He didn't think they could survive without the aid of an adult, not to mention they would be hunted like rabid dogs instead of the people they were. Even worse, who would invite two homeless, murdering misfits into their residence? "I want to go home.”_

_"We can't. We stick together no matter what, and take care of anyone who gets in our way. Can you do that little brother?”_

* * *

Someone else's dreams.

A setback she cared less to relive every time she supped from a poor soul. Her throat tightened upon watching images where the person suffered much during their upbringing.

This dream, from her horny admirer, had been no different. She didn't catch onto exactly what happened, but Anaya saw two dead bodies on the floor. The brown-haired boy with the claws from his wrist was, she assumed, the assassin. The taller youth, presumably the brute, tried to comfort the child while giving him the harsh reality of their situation.

It seemed safe to blame his rude, blunt behavior on his childhood events. Didn't excuse him from what he did, but she gained some insight into his past. Now, on to find out what she got herself into.

The huntress awoke to half-consciousness. Each muscle twitched in small increments, seeing what fractured and what provided usage. Her lids opened to a surge of spikes shooting through her right arm, knowing the appendage needed to be moved as little as possible.

Focusing proved troublesome with the incessant pounding on the right side of her temple. The last thing she remembered was her limited breath from him choking her then a veil of thick blackness consumed her. Calming herself enough to not panic, she resumed checking the status of her body, the aches in her right hip burning in earnest. That idiot did a swell job at incapacitating her.

Dammit _why_ did he harm her? Out of the loose women surrounding the shoddy bar, why did he pick her? More than half wore pieces of clothing barely covering their naughty bits, and it suggested to be more than easy to snatch one of those broads up. Compared to the other girls Anaya looked overly “conservative” in her attire.

But maybe it served as the appeal. Perhaps he wanted a change of pace in a woman, to have a lady who still had some self-preservation and dignity for herself. Guess she'll never know what would have happened tonight if the jackass just approached her instead of acting like a sadistic freak.

Her temples throbbed from the unanswered questions, reaching her left hand up to the ache in her head, touching some sticky, clotted substance. Her senses sharpened from her enforced slumber, smelling the thick copper adorning the side of her scalp. An indescribable odor infiltrated her nostrils, rousing her to full alertness, as much as she could without injuring herself further.

Using her heightened olfactory networks she distinguished the stale odors of sweat and blood, contorting her face from the horrible mixture. Did the bastard rape and dump her in a trash can? Giving herself an internal check-over 'down there' produced thankful results; nothing felt sore or forced open. It seemed he didn't follow through on his claim to defile her... yet.

Darkness swallowed her eyesight, bringing her glowing Amethyst-hues to light to filter through the light-less space. Nothing in her line of sight looked familiar. A brown stain on something yellow drifted her eyes to the corner. Squinting with intent she formed the design of hexagonal patterns on a rectangular surface. Purple orbs widened, realization settling in on resting atop a pissy, blood-stained mattress.

Anaya crawled off with an indignant snarl, hot discomfort stabbing her injuries in rebuttal to her quick movements. So that's where the foul smell came from, and the exposed parts of her body made contact on it.

"What sick fucker would even think to put somebody on that!" she said aloud, but then closed her mouth because _her_ sick fucker must have left her here.

She slept in a basement, judging by the cement floor and wooden staircase. Amethyst-hued irises returned to the bloody mattress, goose bumps crawling along the skin that touched the bedding. Someone used this place to control and dominate unfortunate souls she thought, degrading their pride to dependent helplessness before their tormentor basked in glory. Why else would she be placed in such a depraved and soulless dungeon?

Anaya moved onto her hands and knees, accidentally slipping on her right arm to pop it back into its socket. A silent scream bellowed in her throat, kicking out her feet in misery as pain wrapped its fingers around the tender area and pulled. Her hip felt similar. She needed to rest before she strived to heal but that had to wait. Getting out of this dank, dark cellar climbed to the top of her priorities.

Weak legs shook while going up the steps one at a time, inhaling shuddering breaths to breathe through the pain, pulling herself up with difficulty when she reached the door knob. Her knees buckled under her weight, sinking her to the floor.

“Fuck! C'mon you stupid leg, you ain't gotta do shit but drag yourself along!” she gritted her teeth, eyebrows narrowed in stern concentration.

In a mix of disappointment and courage from her nearly hopeless dilemma she growled in anger, standing up with her back to the door. Where did he kidnap her to? In a basement yes, but where? Did he take her to some abandoned lot? Is she somewhere by the docks, locked away in one of the various shacks the fishermen used to sleep?

Anaya put her ear to the wood and listened for movement. Soundless minutes passed, silence that could be perceived as a good or bad thing. If she stayed in this room she drove to lose consciousness from the lack of air, giving her assailant an opportunity to strike. And speaking thus, just where did the man in question hide?

“Ugh, I'm feeling light-headed,” the woman muttered, scrunching up her nose in disgust in memory of the nasty mattress.

She found strength deep within her being, taking four internal breaths to calm her nerves, gripping the knob in her left hand and yanked it. Hard. The door broke off a hinge, splinters falling to the floor. No use in trying to see if the entry was unlocked; she thought no one would be that stupid to leave the lock open.

Her little stunt tired her more than before, but it's better than being in the basement. She paused, waiting on anyone to come investigate the noise. A minute ticked, then three. Slowly, she pulled the rest of the door open, mindful to keep the sound to a minimum and wary of her injuries. Lips slightly parted at the sight in front of her, thinking she stepped into another world.

Green-gray, glass-front cabinets complemented gray walls. White quartz counter tops adorned the matching counters similar to the cupboards. Various sets of cutting tools lay on top of the counter, varying in style from butter to butcher knives. A chrome-styled fridge, stove and dishwasher gave the kitchen this haughty, upscale appeal.

No one was home, signaling a safe journey for Anaya to search the premises for any intruders... or the person who put her here. The ceramic floors felt cold under her feet, providing temporary relief to the heat burning her right leg. Her limping brought her over to the sink, eyes resting on a black duffel bag. Curiosity got the better of her as she peeked inside, discovering a hefty amount of cash; estimates probably near fifty grand.

This loft... house... prison must've belonged to her Neanderthal, smelling his fading woodsy scent drifting around her. Wouldn't that be nice if she grabbed the bills and went on a shopping spree to pamper herself, or to get revenge on the bastard for making her go through this shit? But she didn't need the bank notes, her current occupation of owning a small hotel cottage gave her the luxury perks she could handle.

And the free blood the guests provided.

She hobbled out of the kitchenette, her attention turned to the large red oak dinette set. The identical seats contained hunting scenes engraved onto the back of the chair; the piece appearing to be decoration rather than somewhere for eating.

“Why did this dick bring me here,” she whispered to herself, confusion settling thick on her features. His masochistic nature contradicted his sense of design. It seemed unlikely he brought her here to give an apology for his behavior. The latter part of her mind thinking he kidnapped girls to kill them without interference from the police. It maintained a logical idea, seeing how he locked her in the basement.

His faded scent lingered strong throughout the house, Anaya wondering if he waited elsewhere to pounce on her when she least expected it. If he decided on giving her a peek-a-boo, then she would offer her own rebuttal.

The muntantess limped back to the kitchen, picking up the largest knife to defend herself in case he attacked. In difficult and silent steps she leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath before turning around the corner to peer into the living room.

No one came into sight.

“So he left me here?” Her body moved off the wall, looking inside the spacious living room before stepping down two steps that lead into the area. Anaya's eyes shifted to the left, seeing her precious baby parked outside on the brick driveway. Her car... occupied this asshole's driveway. That gorilla of a Neanderthal drove her car up here?

_The car is replaceable, your life isn't_. Her conscious reproached her for pondering about something so vain but Anaya ignored it, thinking of an escape route before he returned. Optimism swelled inside her, knowing her breakout fell into her hands yet the realization of him taking her keys sunk her elated feeling, leaving the thread of hope hanging on in desperation.

The quiet house gnawed at her insides, harboring a gaping void in which no sounds could be heard. The refrigerator should have hummed or a clock ticking on the wall but a soundless ambiance accompanied her.

Opening the front entrance led her onto an enclosed porch, something along the likes of a patio, before she actually step foot outside. Teal couches and chairs adorned the porches with complementary oak tables. Warm, wooden floors completed the look, creating an inviting atmosphere perfect for a cool, summer day.

“Just who... this doesn't belong to the same guy does it?” Someone who possessed this much taste in style couldn't match the personality her kidnapper had. Then again, people who gained these lavish homes usually adopted a crude attitude by nature.

Brown, blue and beige cobblestone bricks led the way to the end of the driveway, transitioning into a dirt road seeming to stretch on forever. From her standpoint the house hid in the mountains or deep within some forest. White dots in the sky sparkled in bright radiance against the dark sheet it laid against, showing she stood nowhere near any town and the pollution choking the air.

The trek to the car proved an arduous task but she reached the driver's side, heat traveling through her body as a thick lump formed in her throat. Easing herself down into the seat she extended her hand to her visor, praying to whatever holy entity that her spare key remained untouched.

“Aw, just fuck me!” The bastard took it.

The steering wheel took most of her physical abuse, slamming the hard surface before cradling her head in her hands. Sinking back in her seat she let out a frustrating scream, a bitter laugh rising at the stupidity of getting caught. If she listened to her inner voice she might be full by now, tummy bloated beyond reason after the blood she drank. But she just tried to take on something she couldn't chew, literally.

Growling filled the car, tingling her insides with alarm, opening one eye just to roll it closed. “I ate three hours ago. Am I really that hungry?” The woman rubbed her stomach, considering her options to flee from here that didn't require the last of her reserves to be emptied. There were no homes nearby with the thick forestry surrounding her. As nocturnal of a creature she existed as, she didn't _feel_ like walking around aimlessly trying to find her way to civilization.

During the early years of her life she slept in the trees during the day and prowled for anything to eat when night swallowed the sun's rays. But what changed? Had she become so domesticated to ignore her natural instincts?

For the longest time, the wilderness dwelled as her home, surviving through the ranks of trial and error to see her to her next day. With her coming upon good living, she didn't harbor the need to relive her harrowing past. If she wanted food, she hunted. If she wanted to live, she killed. Her hardships are over, did a reason remain to resort to her survival guide or wait to see what would happen next?

_Why is this a question, you need to leave here at once!_

Her inner voice sounded in the right, begrudgingly. But what if she wandered for a bit and lost her way, then what would she do? Wander for hours or even days until she found civilization again? Walking in potential circles in her weakened state wasn't a smart thing to do, not knowing what hunters prowled the night.

Her stomach rumbled in disagreement from her musings, demanding her attention to focus on food rather than her survival. She could risk staying out here until he came back but what good is that when he had her keys? Can she fight him to reclaim her keys and leave in one piece?

A harsh sigh escaped through her nostrils, shoulders sagging in defeat. She limped outside her car, closing the door in a loud slam. Her mind screamed in protest in returning to the house but what other choice did she have? Sure she can run and hide but her injuries got the best of her and there weren't any city lights around, indicating her lonesome disposition.

She hobbled her way through the house to the kitchen, taking a long look to admire the cozy living room. Deep-orange walls accented the olive-green corner group, complemented with black pillows strewn lazily about. Small, black tables sat adjacent to either section of the couch and a matching coffee table rested in the middle.

Paintings of scenes depicting the wilderness and hunting decorated the walls. White doors showed at the back end of the living room led to a den. An ebony oak cabinet positioned to the left of the white doors, odd little decorative quirks placed in a neat manner on top of the shelves. Beige brick and marble constructed the fireplace's heath. Stacks of wood adorned the side, ready to have its fleshed burned. Picturing herself with hot chocolate and a good book to read while the fire blazed and cackled away filled her mind, if not for her situation.

She reached the refrigerator and looked inside. Various sizes of red meat graced the racks but this wasn't the neatly butchered parts one finds in the deli. Disproportionate pieces cut from a large animal looked freshly inviting to her starved taste buds.

“So, my admirer is a woodsman,” she mused aloud. That's something she found... pleasing. He knew his way around danger and faced challenges, huh? Sounded fitting of the idiot that brought her here.

As much as she wished for the red, packaged meat to be marinated in blood, this portion will have to do. She reached into the fridge and opened the package, tearing into the raw, thick rump. It tasted no where near as pleasant as a fresh, live kill but she had no other choice.

With focused thoughts on eating, three livers also housed residence in her stomach after devouring the rump. A tingling satisfaction flowed through her, awakening dormant cells needed to replenish her strength. This feeling accompanied a rush to restore her lacking nutrients. But alas, the surge to deliver energy faded once her body realized the substitute supplement instead of the real thing.

Anaya groaned with disappointment, knowing the meaty morsel couldn't replace her regular intake of food but she would take it with a grain of salt however long it would last.

She refused to clean the mess she made, putting weight on her bad leg and almost losing her balance. Her regenerative factor took too long to enable her to move about regularly after that shitty fight. Perhaps he banged her up more than she realized.

Dawn seeped over the horizon, letting her know how long she slept in that rut. With her inspection of the house the only clock she found so far showed on the stove, red numbers flashing 4:25 on display. Common sense told her to rest in her car but her bruised hip needed cushioning to heal properly. Her eyes squeezed shut, opening them wide to stay awake. She couldn't guard herself in expectance of his return, knowing that sleep will take over.

Anaya didn't locate a telephone anywhere, wondering if its removal was done on purpose or if it stood somewhere else. It would make no sense to have it upstairs if it didn't sit down here but she had to try in this desolate dilemma.

“How my life has made a fucked up turn. Damn.” Trusty knife in hand, she hobbled her way towards the stairs, thankful it had thick, sturdy railings to balance the majority of her weight on. The top of the floor housed eight different doors, four of them disappearing down hallways placed on either side. Each splendidly decorated room wielded no telephone on her search, Anaya muttering dark curses with her bad streak of luck.

The biggest door of them all she checked last, her mission soon erasing from the front of her mind. She turned on the light switch, eyes soaking up the grand resplendence. Cream walls expanded the size of the white and plum-colored bed resting on heightened steps. Matching curtains enveloped the room in the shaded hue even with the windows open, letting in the lightening sky. A Persian rug with specks of the two colors added majestic flair.

Peeking inside a white door a large walk-in closet greeted the huntress, various pants, shirts and suits hung cleanly off of wire hangers. A wall unit stood to the opposite of the bed, bedecked with books, trinkets, and candles all set in its own cubicle. To the right of the bed waited another opening which could only lead to the bathroom, she supposed. The two night stands on either side of the beckoning piece of furniture held a lamp on each, but nothing more. Still, no phone combed through her sight.

Now confirming a lack of a phone, what can she do? Going up and down those stairs would waste her energy but she had to keep watch for his return. Her legs shifted on their own accord, walking around the side of the bed when she ran her fingers on the silky cover. Then she found herself leaning on the bed, feeling it mold and conform to her body.

_Don't do it_.

_I need rest_.

Her mind and body battled with each other, arguing over whose idea needed the action. She sat further on the soft covers, her battered form using a cheap tactic to win over her mental faculty. Tired feet moved over to the curtain to close them, concealing the room in complete darkness as Anaya made her way to the bed. Yet to rub the bruised ego of her thoughts she barely managed to place the two nightstands against the door, setting a trap in case he came back.

Dirtied shoes and pants left her physique, wincing as the clothes stuck to her skin. To regain strength she needed rest to regain her health yet that would be impossible, knowing sleep wouldn't fully be hers expecting his arrival.

“My life has taken a shit turn for the worse.”

Exhausted beyond means she settled into the soft bedding, nearly succumbing to slumber the moment her head hit the pillows. The last image to enter her psyche was of the two boys fleeing from their past; future uncertain as they vanished into the night as life awaited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you were taken away and woke up in a strange place, what would you do? Stay put to see if you knew your surroundings or get the hell up outta there? I'm sure the response would be the latter, but you always can't have the same thinking as everyone else, lol. That girl is stubborn.


	5. This House Is Not A Home

**Fourteen hours after leaving Anaya...**

Once the team dispatched into their respective stances, it was all a matter of divide and conquer. Hiding in the native evergreen trees an army battalion near to fifty men stood around a medium-sized house, detailed to the brim with palm trees and statues. Small shacks fashioned out of logs, grass and mud provided scarce coverage to the steroid-ridden security guards. In the area's center scantily-clad women kept the fire ablaze, sending sparks shooting to the treetops each time they added more wood.

Teenagers. Child-like baby features held eyes lost and barren, gazing into the world with depth-less scrutiny. Blossoming curves donned visible dirt spots and smudges on their legs and faces. They were kidnapped from their villages, forced into servitude and prostitution. 'Technologically inefficient' countries held repetitive scenes like this, left to fend for themselves when their government wasn't "logically efficient" to care for them.

"Same note, different song," Victor mused to himself. If he had his way, he'd take a girl behind the shack to get rid of the current stress built inside of him thanks to his "prostitute" in his basement. On the trip over that toothy bunny plagued his mind, blocking out the briefing Stryker babbled on about.

Whatever the old fart had told him didn't register, leading the first attack on the unsuspecting guards; the actual mission itself taking half an hour to complete. Victor gutted, clawed and tore at his enemies, malicious glee filling his soul with mirth after the soldiers fell to his sudden movements. Stryker scolded at him and the other members eyed him with narrowed foreheads but he shrugged their condescending looks off.

He found the so-called mutant in question, some lithe male possessing the power to turn certain objects into water. He neutralized the scared punk before he even _thought_ to strike.

Victor cared less for shit missions like these, the other pukes are more than capable of handling such small fry. The quicker he finished the objective, the sooner he can get back home. If Anaya escaped, he would be disappointed, but he anticipated such an action beforehand. Naivety remained an idea he shoved into the recesses of his brain, but he made sure it would be difficult for her to leave.

She didn't know her location and he searched in her car, stumbling across another key in the visor. Calling for help wouldn't suit her to the better because he didn't connect a phone in his house. The closest neighbor resided twenty miles west of his residence; the nosy little fucks couldn't mind their business if their life depended on it. Said log manor carried on seclusion deep in the mountains. Only transportation to travel to and fro came in the form of a vehicle. In _his_ case however...

Chasing after a woman this long usually skipped his agenda unless if his orders demanded it of him. Withal this minx threw him a curve ball. The Cat-hellion she lived as challenged and played with him to lower his guard.

If she had any brains then she would revel in his luscious pad until he returned, if she escaped her guestroom. Wanting to return as soon as possible climbed to the top of his priority list. Too bad Wade didn't share his sentiments.

**On the Plane**

"Why is the big, bad kitty nervous? Are you making your brain overheat by thinking too much or is there something on your mind?" Wade teased, sharpening his katana with a water stone. Victor didn't acknowledge his adversary, knowing it would lead him to verbal abuse of useless chatter. Eyelids remained closed and his inhales evened out to steel his nerves calm, yet Wade persevered.

"I'm only saying. Not like you to just charge out there like Rambo without Pops giving the orders first. Tryin' to show us up out there or what?"

_Ain't nothing out there to show up because you have nothin' to show_. None of those idiots in the squad could fight him solo. With the patience he had and the years spent together the feral mutant remembered a lot of things about each teammate, especially in the style they fought.

John Wraith and Fred Dukes kept the same offensive pattern. Agent Zero resided as Stryker's lap dog, Wade the front man, and Bradley served as the glorified technician. Terminating them would be effortless. He learned that while Stryker needed _them_ to achieve his goals, the colonel would betray them if so inclined. The others may have been oblivious to his actions, but Victor saw through him.

Wade continued, "You're clacking your nails like you're waiting for something… or someone. Who is it? I say the word "it" because I don't really know which way you swing. Half the time you look at me like you want to eat me, in the cannibal or the erotic sense I'm not sure, but that can also mean in the fighting sense as well. I guess-"

"Shut the fuck up, Wade."

"Well, fine then. But you know what I do when I get anxious?"

Victor didn't bother replying. Talking further would encourage him.

"I like singing."

The team scoffed, heads shaking and eyes rolling in what pointed towards an annoying, but funny venture. The soldiers realized Wade purposefully aggravated Victor; those two took part in a pissing contest over each other's abilities.

As a whole the men participated in solo missions instead of staying as a unit, achieving Stryker's plans as individuals and joining when need be. With their lessened time together, the merc saw this as the perfect opportunity to "reminisce.”

"Do you recall the tune we used to sing, the one where I would take the lead-"

"The songs you screech out only have the main person taking the stage, man. The chorus doesn't count," offered John Wraith, a dark-skinned mutant who shook his head, lifting his cowboy hat off and dusting some dirt off of it.

"True, my voice is made of gold, but remember the island song we belted-"

"Again, you did the singing, and the rest of us joined in to cover over your awful vocals."

"Ouch, Johnny boy, way to crush a man's ego!"

"It takes a lot more than my words alone to do anything to you, Wade," he laughed with mirth, placing his hat back on his head.

"Yeah well, why not do one for the road, boys. Come on, I'll start off-"

"Wade," Victor opened his lids to reveal angered daggers, in no mood to hear his voice, but his words went unnoticed by the mercenary.

" _An island lost at sea_ , _oh_ _―_ wait that's not how it starts off. Oh, here we go― _A year has passed since_ _―_ shit! What's the first lyric? _My loneliness, anyone can bear_... fuck a hippie, that ain't it either!"

John, Bradley, and Dukes bowed their heads into their necks and snickered, little fits of tittered laughter filling the silence of the plane due to the merc making a sincere attempt to remember the lyrics to the "island song.”

" _Message in a bottle_. Hot dog, that's it!" He cleared his throat with excessive coughs, shaking his fingers of any tension held within them.

_"Just a castaway, an island lost as sea, ooooh."_

_"Another lonely day, no one here but me ooooooh."_

Wade tapped his foot on the floor, snapping his fingers in an off-rhythm vibe while singing. His facial expression twisted to match whatever word closely resembled the lyrics.

_"More loneliness, any man can beaaarrrr."_

_"Rescue me before I fall into despair, ohhhhhhhh."_

The swordsman pointed the end of the saya at Dukes' mouth, prompting the muscular man to sing a piece. _"I'll send an SOS to the world, I'll send an SOS to the world."_ Only Wraith and Dukes sung it together, joining in on the improv of beat-making for the song.

_"I hope that someone gets my..."_

The merc turned his sheathed katana to Victor, pointing the end of it so the feral mutant could join.

Victor looked at him with silent annoyance. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd open his jaws and acknowledge the asshole in something so insignificant. His nerves danced on the edge of a cliff and he knew Wade worked on pushing him over.

_"I hope that someone get my..."_

He repeated his gestures. Wade would sing a verse then his saya would point to Victor to join in, the feral's face scrunched up in irritation for the thing ventured too close in his personal space. Wade had _one_ more time to do that shit before the brute clawed him and be rid of that fucking mouth forever.

He could envision it now, blood soaking his fingernails as the mercenary clutched his throat, wide-eyes staring in surprise of his sudden death. The others may have found this to be hilarious, but Victor didn't need to waste his energy with such nonsense.

Too bad Mr. Wilson didn't hear his thoughts, he pressed on with the song, voice rising a fewer octaves to reach his climatic finish.

" _I hope that someone gets my message in a booottlee, whoa-oh-oh-yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh-"_

"For fucks sake Wade, shut up!" Victor snapped in anger; the growl in his voice coating his words in a final warning.

Silence rapidly settled on the plane, the troupe looking at Victor in cautious worry.

"… Okay Mr. Grumpy Cave Man. I'll be quiet. I'll stop my singing-" Wade wiped the side of his nose, left eyebrow arching up in the air to give off this aloof manner. He continued, "-but some day, you'll see my face at the Grammy's and you'll wish you took the time to-to listen to me."

Giggles exploded from the merc, indulging in his playful façade. The rest of the group stayed quiet, the ambiance spoiled by Victor's foul aura and mood. The two had opposing personalities that clashed with one another in frequent occurrence.

James had the ability to convince Victor to tolerate Wade; the swordsman then deeming them 'boring' and trotting off somewhere else. Since he quit the team, the merc seized opportunities to rub Victor the wrong way, on purpose.

"Even though you have silenced my singing, do you mind if I hum the melody, then?"

Laughter came back in smothered giggles and scoffs, hands flying over humored faces. No matter how grim the situation or the somber the mood, Wade inhabited the uncanny ability to lessen their depressed state and move closer to his jovial one. Except for James, Stryker and Victor; they lost their merriment somewhere in the sea of grouchiness.

The feral's sanity dangled on a thin string, focusing on his catty captive to keep from making good on his envisioning; the mercenary driving closer to lying dead on the floor.

S-s-S-s-S

The helicopter landed in an open field, the grass long since barren and dry to transition into winter. Victor requested to be dropped off here, surveying the area for her scent in case she ran off.

He remembered this part of the woodlands, no unfamiliar stone left unturned in his territory. He knew secret passages and routes that led in and out of the hills. If anyone tried to escape, they unknowingly doubled back to run into him, most likely getting lost in the forestry.

Fifteen minutes later, the feral mutant strolled up his driveway; the earthy smell of the wild allowing his mind to forget about the incident on the plane. This exuded his favorite method to rid of his troubled thoughts.

Animalistic smells and rotting wood flesh reminded him of surviving with nothing except the clothes on his back and his brother at his side. Cool wind rustling the leaves carried the scents of mild, nutty plants they chanced upon eating. Shadows created at night kept them on high alert, snapping branches and creaking twigs gave way to light sleep, never knowing if a bounty hunter snuck in on their location or a hungry beast looked to feed their family.

People today don't _know_ what it means to survive, too domesticated in their own oblivious world to even acknowledge existing without materialistic possessions.

The vivid reminiscing left a sudden bitterness gripping his heart, tugging it towards its pessimistic embrace. They vowed to look out for each other, and one of them fell through on their promise. Out of all the people killed, maimed or slaughtered by their hands just to survive, Jimmy walked out on him when his conscious suddenly found itself again and he felt the urge to bail?

What made it so different this time from all the incidents of them expressing their nature? The decrepit environment in Africa or that the people faced assassination? Only thing that shithole of a place didn't have beheld an arsenal of _men_ , not one inhabitant grew the balls to challenge them. How weak are humans to not even stand up for themselves. Victor snorted in annoyance, peeved that his baby brother let his sentiments eat at him enough to quit on him, when killing became natural to them for the longest.

James' departure didn't affect Victor alone, Stryker lost out on his best man. James ordained as his go-to mutant for quick and fluent missions. Zero stayed in the old man's back pocket and Wade distracted himself with his lax attitude towards everything; the rest of the fellas are 'average' at best. When his brother left the scene Victor went out and proved his worth as the bigger, badder, and better soldier; daring anyone to say otherwise.

"Oh Miss Kitty, your ball of yarn is here..."

He walked in light steps, thinking it a better option to sneak up on her rather than her gearing up the courage to strike at him upon hearing his footsteps.

Who knows, letting her run into the woods might be a little fun to play the game of mouse and tiger. He needed to stretch his legs and humor himself. Hopefully she lingered in a calmer mood than the last encounter, but with the circumstances of what happened, she may try and kill him. Either way, he would be ready for her.

Victor opened the door quietly, taking in his surroundings striding into the living room. From the view everything seemed normal as he left it. He shut the entrance behind him, eyes trained and focused on the kitchen to sense his prey.

An odd scent wavered in the kitchen, growing stronger when he trailed in its direction. It reminded him of the stuffy odor that accumulated in the basement, considering the lack of vents the stench could divert out of.

He had a feeling that might happen.

Apparently, the cat-hellion endured a lot stronger than he thought. Then again it didn't take much to rip a door off its screws. What amazed him, somewhat, remained her ability to do so with her injuries. She had almost two whole days to recover and regain some of her strength though if she had healing abilities.

A pinched expression graced his face over her escape, but he had to give respect to the girl's tenacity. Not only did she prove she commanded a force, no matter how small, to be reckoned with, she indirectly told him off; refusing to stay put in the space provided for her. His desire to hunt spiked, adrenaline slow to fill his veins with a hungering need.

Brown spots on the floor stole his attention, wondering if it belonged to his sassy deviant. Could she have leaked blood if she broke out of the basement? Another spot stained the refrigerator's door, as if someone lead him to clues on her whereabouts.

Victor opened the icebox, exhaling an incredulous scoff upon seeing the meat he stored away long gone. Perhaps the woman made herself a little too comfortable. Oh well, he would charge her extra for her usage of his supplies.

"First the bitch escapes, and then cleans out my fridge." He closed the door, mind settling to search the other half of the forest when the thudding of trickling water reached his hearing. Ears zoned in on the sound, listening to the uneven sprays of water clashing against the tiled floor.

A full minute passed before a small smirk crawled onto his thin lips. She bathed upstairs, getting sweet and clean for him when he geared to make her bathe in his scent. Perhaps he would go easy on her, she saved him from roaming around outside when the time could be spent in her.

Victor strolled into the living room, rolling his arms back and cracking the bones in his neck. He stopped at the base of the stairs, taking one giant leap to land right in front of his room. From the crack in the bedroom opening he saw rumpled sheets; the blanket barely hanging on for dear life to the edge of the bed.

Adding up the supplies she used stretched his grin wider, seeing how she had no money to pay for her stay. But that's okay, he held no interest in her paying him through monetary means. The feral mutant crept his way over to the sofa beside the bedding, patience waiting out until his 'guest' came out of the bathroom.

**Anaya's POV**

Drinking her own blood maintained her faltering strength.

This façade didn't last though; it left her feeling as incomplete as it did before. Every three hours she took a bite out of her wrist to prevent her inner demon from going berserk. For nearly two days she supped from herself; the sensation fulfilling her briefly before the thirsting pangs returned to gnaw at her.

Moving as little as possible proved to be an energy saver, along with keeping the curtains closed to keep the sunny rays from draining her. Her boredom didn't reach its defining peak, she had the chance to catch up on some of her favorite re-runs on the big TV in the room.

Most of the time sleep claimed her, taking small naps restore herself in the daylight hours. At night, the animals came together, concocting wild sounds that allowed her to drift off into a deep slumber.

Her admirer plagued her thoughts all the while. Her first night in the comfy bed allowed full hour-long naps, listening for noises that might signal somebody entering the house. Morning came and strode by without any presence of the man, Anaya wondering what his deal remained to be.

He made his intentions known to defile her yes, but _why_ did he bring her here? Doing away with her in the alley and killing her she could understand, yet why would he go through all the trouble to drop her off in this mansion? Thinking back to the stained mattress the idea popped up of her death, judging from the soiled blood.

Perhaps he's a psycho, maiming people in the privacy and comfort of his abode in the most atrocious manner. If her speculations proved correct, then she would book it out of there.

_So why are you still here? What use would it be to die trying to leave when you could have reached someone to help you. You had two days to escape!_

True, what her conscious said made sense. However, what good is it to escape when she didn't know this place?

She had gone outside to better inspect her surroundings; the sunny light had uncovered the blanket of darkness around the forest. A dirt route lead into a thicket of bushes, but that's where the path ended. How did her car travel up here without going on a trail? If it rode on the dry grass, then two tracks should run through the clay but nothing showed.

The woodlands surrounded her from all sides. What were to happen if she left and walked in circles; getting lost twice as badly than if she just stayed here? She would have said goodbye the minute she woke up if she obtained the skills to hot wire a car.

Sighing at her predicament she decided to patch herself up, grabbing a spare change of clothes and condiments she kept in her trunk, returning from surveying the area. Her walk improved from her forced injury yet the limb still needed to recuperate. Maybe the shower will ease the coiled up muscles; might as well use everything this luxury prison has to offer.

Taking her soap, body wash, and lotion into the bathroom, she set her sights on the semi-circular tub built into the wall. Large brown, tiled covering adorned the floor and the wall the vanity sat against, giving off this comfortable vibe in the room. Mahogany shelves held pieces of décor and varying towel sizes, completing the scene with a grand painting depicting a scenery akin to the one outside.

Oh how relaxing would it be to take a hot bubble bath to soothe her aching body but she needed to make this quick. Her stubbornness often overlooked the logical side of things. Why would she wait until the jerk came back to torment her? She didn't assume the role of some hapless sack of bones that couldn't fend for herself, nevertheless this whole situation called to question her predicament.

"Oh, what sadistic plans do you have in store for me, Mr. Kidnapper?" she said in a blank tone.

The fateful scene at the bar replayed in her mind, chewing on the inside of her cheek in frustration. Her conscious showed every sign of being in the right. She should have high-tailed it out of that alley as soon as the brute killed those boys.

But in a sense she couldn't identify, something about him intrigued her to stay. Maybe his magnetic confidence called to her or perhaps he didn't follow the qualities of a human. She wanted to know if other mutants lived out there like them and where they hid. After seeing what little manners he had, talking seemed like an idea the idiot cared less to indulge in.

Across from the tub stood a large, see-through shower, exposing everything and concealing nothing from anyone who walked in or even watched. As fancy of a place this came to be, there probably stowed a camera somewhere, recording her actions to the viewer.

After taking a shower, careful to mind her aches, she wrapped a comfy towel around her body and loosened her hair from a hair tie, moving over to the foggy mirror to scrutinize herself.

The cut on the right side of her temple healed, but it left an eggplant-hued bruise in its place. Wrinkled fingertips ghosted over her spine, wincing from the pain. The potent slam from her brute changed her posture at the moment, hunching forward to release the tightness in her back.

Small, dark circles appeared under her eyes, lack of sleep and constant worry the cause of the eyesore. "As soon as I get out of here, I'm promising myself to a full day at the spa... and a trip to the gun shop," she muttered in bitter contempt. A long sigh escaped her lips, turning away from the mirror in mild anger. She applied lotion to her dry skin, the moisturizing sensation calming her into a neutral state.

Honestly, what is the gain to be had in all this? The man laid eyes on something he wanted and couldn't catch, so he decided to take it? Is he the type to do horrific things to someone in lieu of rejection? Did he have psychological issues growing up as a child?

No one aspired to be... whatever kind of social misfit he is. Something often traumatic happened early on in their lives and the negative impact corrupted any good they saw in people.

Or did it expose them to how cruel and vicious the world is?

She finished the task at hand, putting on a thick, burgundy robe hanging behind the bathroom door. How useless is it to decode his personality. After she left she'll leave this memory locked in the deepest confines of her mind, of him and this place. Her cherished car would have to stay here until, possibly, she got it back.

The bathroom door opened, stepping into the bedroom with the heated, shower fog rolling off of her. Amethyst hues locked gazes with gray ones, body freezing up while sudden spikes shot through her.

The vixen wished she left sooner.

S-s-S-s-S

"Oh. Look what we have here. Last time I saw you I broke you in half, and not the way that I intended to." Victor sat on the chair, left arm propped on his knee, hand holding his tilted chin. Eyes roamed over what little curves he gathered under the thick fabric. To the layman, they would say the husband patiently waited for his wife to take forever to get ready; with him just sitting there and admiring the woman he came to adore.

Right.

In order for him to adore her, he needed to have a much closer _inspection_.

Apparently someone's senses took an undeserved break she thought, allowing the man of her nightmares to saunter in without detection. Her sense of smell should be working if anything else!

Her vision shifted to the door and window, trying to discern which would be her best option of escaping. Hands clenched and unclenched in nervousness, a tightness formed in her chest. Did he stay in a separate room watching her and decided to show himself when she finished? Questions pushed to tumble out her mouth but she stayed rooted in her place, wondering where these events could lead to next.

"Well, don't you look pretty." Victor stood up from the sofa, walking around the bed to gain a closer peek.

"Where were you?" She shifted over to the bedding, stepping on top of it to distance herself from him. Her weight sunk into the soft mattress, her hip screaming in discomfort as quick, sharp pains flooded her injured limbs.

"Away. Killin'. Maimin'. Shooting. You know... guy stuff." Victor dismissively responded, noting her weak leg. He waited to take advantage of her becoming mishap.

He stopped at the end of the bed, inclining over the railing to limit her exits. Her bulk switched from foot to foot, the good limb trying to support the whole of her mass while evening her balance. It worked briefly until her right appendage gave out, folding in half to fall on her butt.

Victor moved to the right side, leaning over her to keep her still. The mutantess sat up, evading his touch and not quite gaining a hold of her footing, slipping on the silky comforter and falling into the wall. She realized the impact would bite into her arm, eyelids closing and bracing for the pain to come.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You're sure you're not drunk?" He moved to stand in front of her to block any efforts of fleeing.

Her mind spun, blinded by the sheer agony wafting through her. Victor placed both hands on either side of her face, lowering himself until they were at eye level.

Round, almond orbs stared back at him; the surprise in them evident but the cold, hard glare supplied the foundation of her true feelings. Any sensible woman would flee this place as soon as the opportunity arose. No one told her to stay and enjoy herself, and she can't have a reason to get mad _at_ him. The blame lied solely on her.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me?"

"Fuck you." The blaze she sported could have robbed blossoming flowers of their petals.

"Fuck me? I think you have your priorities all wrong, frail." He took her chin in his grip, forcing her to face him but the little hellion held her eyes downcast. "You got yourself into this mess and you really can't blame me for not letting you out."

Deep amethyst eyes gazed at him in defiance, daring him to repeat what he said. He met her with equal intensity, irises locking onto hers and willing the woman to say otherwise. Victor lit a fire within her soul, the flames of resistance lashing out under her faulty reign to burn him with all its glory.

There belied a great enjoyment when one lost their temper and he existed as the cause, breaking their will for his personal delight. What made her persona so much more of a challenge; her rebellion. She wasted no time in telling him off or using her womanly wiles to trick him into dissolving his guard.

"Guest room wasn't too your liking?"

"I had too many complaints." Her face scrunched, recalling the basement and its filth.

He cocked his head to the side and grinned, baring his fangs in triumph; her control began to slip.

She continued, "And I don't like people in my personal space."

"Well, allow me to move myself." He pushed himself on Anaya, a sudden hitch of breath escaping her lips at the touch. Cotton-covered arms crossed themselves over a plush chest, denying the man in front of her full contact. He chuckled, knowing that moving her silly limbs out of the way proved no hassle for him. But he would let her think she still had some influence in the situation.

She tried to wriggle out from beneath him, heavy fucker weighed like a solid brick. She scooted to turn on her side to move, but he blocked her body with those chunky arms. Legs slid down the wall but he pressed into her further, plastered between the immovable object before her and the compact foundation behind her.

Eyes averted him all this time, nervous to see what resided in those gray peepers. Seriously, there occupied no other way out of this? What if she attempted to reason with him instead of using seductive methods? The latter made him slap her up side the head, and then that wouldn't benefit her any again.

Victor brought his claw to her chin and traced her jawline up to the bruise on the right side of her face, the nail elongating to make her feel what he would do to her in the power struggle he created. He scratched along her face to his destination, but nowhere near hard enough to draw blood. Raising an eyebrow, he made an effort to sound sympathetic, seeing the blemish resting just above her temple. "Aww, did I do that?".

Her full lips thinned, jaw clenched and unclenched in intervals of her repressed anger. Eyelids narrowed, giving off the impression to harm him for wronging her.

And he liked it.

Frails entertained him to no end. When they indirectly gave him their control through his intimidation it excited him. He challenged those who held onto their sass to see how long they clung to their defiance. Though, once they found out that their attempt failed, the contest ended and he took his prize.

"You really do know how to piss a person off. Why me? There was a shitload of whores back in bar you could have snatched up."

"Simple. I wanted to fuck you." Creed wrapped his long arms around her waist, despite hers being folded. He pulled her close while her upper lip curled in distaste, making an irritated exhale to make her dislike at being man-handled known.

He looked over her features while caressing her backside, wanting to have a better feel since he felt no undergarments. And what reason did she have to complain? She should take it as a compliment; that a man sought after a woman with a little self-respect instead of the loose cunts infesting that place.

Smirking wide at his encouragement, though he needed none, he leaned down to capture her plump lips, yet her maneuver proved to be quicker. Her head turned to the side, exposing her cheeks to his awaiting assault.

She flinched. "The word 'no' still has meaning today. Asking gets you further."

By his current level of eagerness, his guard will drop more if she led him on a bit more, reminding herself he might fake his mood in case she did a repeat from earlier. Yes, let him relax before she kneed his balls, using whatever means of escaping. She would have to time her plan in the right moment to avoid his counterattack.

Swallowing bile rising in her throat she forced herself to loosen her taut nerves, cricking her mouth upwards to appear less hostile.

Victor watched her in silence, detecting her slight change in behavior the longer she kept up the pretending. The woman burned holes into his forehead with her slitted glare and now she's striving to be happy? Such a terrible act if he'd ever seen one.

She schemed on another set of her womanly traps to lower his defenses, and he had adapted to her ways. As much as he wanted her cooperation, however he didn't need it, he liked her better when she had that attitude, made it easier for her to slip up then he would have his way with her.

"Now who's the one feeding the bullshit excuse?" He moved in closer to her face, upping his enthusiasm to make her come out of that innocent twaddle she tried to lead him on with.

Her neck came under his attack, biting back an unexpected gasp threatening to release from the confines of her throat. He must have practiced in honing in on those horny skills of his, her legs roving in small twitches. If only his attitude could go along with it then this wouldn't be such a problem. Perhaps her aloof behavior enticed him too much?

"I'm not on any bullshit. Had you been a little more 'Lothoriao' instead of 'Psycho' you would have gotten much more positive results!"

Focusing on her objective had its difficulties thanks to his increased vigor. It wouldn't be all that bad if she indulged in his ministrations, but she needed to keep a clear head of things. What good would it be if she succumbed to his advances? The enjoyment would defeat her whole purpose of escaping.

"Take, take, take. Isn't that what this world is all about? Get what you want and look after your own interests? Why should I be any different?"

"Because somebody out there might may be willing to share it with you?"

"My patience is too low to wait."

Anaya scoffed. "Good things come to those who wait."

"Never really sat well with me." He moved in to capture her lips but she dodged again.

The surly mutant pressed her closer to his solid form, barely hearing the gasp coming out of her luscious mouth. She'd better find out he decided to extend her stay to receive some extra _fondness_ from him first, or die trying. He looked out for his own concerns and if he needed to utilize someone to reach his goals, then so be it.

"Well the host missed out on entertaining his guest," she said in sarcasm, teeth gritting in anger after she gathered her dwindling telepathic skills and dug a little into his mind, finding his unpleasant thoughts.

On an honest note she assumed he wanted a good time. Unfortunately he kept a bigger agenda floating in his head, Anaya incensed to be consumed and thrown away like garbage. Who gave him that kind of authority? Walking around like some king or royal highness? A doormat is the last thing an asshole like him will treat her like. Her eyes turned a shade darker, glittering in ominous contempt; she had something for him to use.

Victor misinterpreted the look for lust, her hand reaching around his neck and pulling him to her mouth, kissing and gnawing on them in vigor. He returned the smooch with just as much exuberance, securing her body beneath his with his muscular arms. Her soft labiums enticed him, caressing her solid but feminine curves.

Bitten lips endured intense suckling, tongue pushing against closed teeth to gain access into her moist cavern. In response she slowed down the pace, pressing deeper into the kiss to allow him a chance to calm down. The "flirting" seemed to work, the male lulling down his eagerness to enjoy the passion.

As alluring as the woman before him shined, there dwindled something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Her anger lingered in strength within her aura. Did she still lead him on? Perhaps she tired of denying the truth that she wasn't going to come out the victor in this situation. What is she planning in that crafty mind of hers? A way to stab him in the back?

" _That's exactly what I'm going to do_ ," the huntress thought, smiling on the inside in triumph with his self-doubt creating an opening for her attack.

He didn't know which plan of action she harkened to pursue, if any at all, and that left him with his guard down. She needed to time the transaction and she would be free from his grasp.

Such a shame, it felt kind of nice how he knew how to kiss a girl, but not what he probably did with them afterwards, judging from the bloody mattress. The image of it almost ruined what she set up, but she persevered.

She let a series of smothered giggles out, lifting her hands to the back of his head to massage the muscles of his neck. He exhaled with a low groan, appreciating her efforts by grabbing her posterior. Her eyelids opened, giving him the evil eye before closing them again.

"Enjoy it while you can you asshole, because this will be the last chance you'll ever get to do so."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first three sections talks about Victor; the mission, coming back from the mission on the plane, and his trek back to his house.
> 
> Anaya's POV spans across the time of the last hour of his flight to 10 minutes after he came into the room, and then the story resumes from there in the last section. I hope you guys understand it. I really wanted to write it like this but I had to edit it to make it's easy to understand...hopefully.


	6. Say It Right

A full minute rolled by as their lips connected. Victor pressed to kiss faster while Anaya continued with her slower ministrations. He rushed to speed the advances but she needed to pull him deeper into her trap, albeit grudgingly, before she struck him.

As their labiums locked, she pondered what drove a man to take advantage of someone like this. Sure, the whole power-play schtick stayed a factor and the need to exercise their bullying actions, but _why_ did they do it?

Is it the aura of hopelessness or inadequacy a person exuded? Perhaps the fear of the weak drove the oppressor to continue taking control of them? Or maybe it ordained a simple matter overall.

Not much thought went into manipulating someone unless for specific purposes. Something as small as physical intimidation or intimate teasing can sway others to display their vulnerabilities. How pathetic, controlling people so the amoral could thrive.

And what did she call herself doing?

Isn't she trying to use sly methods to take advantage of his sexual exploits to complete her ulterior motive of killing him?

_"That's different,"_ she scolded herself, moving her right knee in between his thighs, lightly rubbing against his groin to lull his securities. She continued with her thoughts. _"He thinks he can force me to submit to his whims, but he got something else coming to him."_

No matter the outlook, these ideals of manipulation did not apply to her. This is an emergency and she'll take whatever tactics to survive.

Thinking enough time passed to lure down his defenses some, she drew her knee back to hit him squarely in the privates. The opening enabled her to elbow him in the side of the jaw, his grip on her loosening to let her bolt out the door.

But escape she would not. Oh no, she humored him like no other, and the fault fell on her because she didn't flee at that bar or when she stayed here on her lonesome. What's her argument for staying here like a dummy? Why didn't she try to run when the opportunity arose?

The feral moved hot on her tracks, using his agility to catch up to her without effort. About half way down the stairs did he reclaim his mouse, grabbing her by the hair and lifting her over his shoulder, her spine lying on the hard bone. Aching grunts echoed with each step Victor went down, her weight shifting to the center of her back.

He dropped her on the living room sofa where she flailed her limbs. Not wanting to injure his nether region further if she aimed to hit him there again, Victor let her go but not before pushing her to the opposite end of the couch.

She defied to submit to his dominance with her hardened look, adamant to emblazon his body by her glare alone.

Fuck, if it didn't make her look beautiful though.

He liked her feisty aura, probably the reason he took such a strong liking to her. She wasn't necessarily mad at him for doing this, more along the lines of being angry _at_ herself to let him win. If she wanted him to stop, she had a few offensive moves under all that sass and there wasn't an excuse for her not to use them.

They rested on opposite ends of the couch, each reading the other's move before they provided a counterattack. Anaya had the advantage though, her telepathic skills could read what hovered inside his vile skull.

Her form braced the corner, one leg placed on the floor whilst the other propped upon the seat, giving him an eyeful of her toned legs. Her hair had thickened into loose curls covering over most of her face; the robe barely keeping her front under wraps.

With the heavy cloth falling off she assumed his eyes would roam over her curves yet he kept his sight on her face. Perhaps he attempted to set up a mind game to throw her off? Just exactly what transpired in that noggin of his? Would she be surprised, considering what she found up there before?

Large, clawed fingers reached into a pocket, wrapping around something before withdrawing all together. Amethyst irises watched that hand, hoping in earnest it was her keys. It's doubtful he gripped a condom. Something about him didn't scream "safety.”

More along the lines of a silent killer if one wasn't careful.

A metallic clank dropped on the table; the sound receiving her full attention as she saw, what was in fact, a set of keys with a strawberry pendant.

Irritation bubbled inside her, stopping herself from acting on impulse in his hovering vicinity. He threw them out there in the front of her, challenging her to take them and she told herself she would. If she can grab them and hurt him long enough to flee...

Victor anticipated her actions. As she lunged for her keys he held his hands out to grab her. She feigned and attempted to kick him in the groin instead. Clawed fingers grasped her long leg and pulled her to him, constraining her to straddle him.

That semi-sweet, musky pheromone bloomed out of women when they didn't know they projected it. The faint smell she exuded back in his room urged him to bask in the perfume, wanting to make the scent louder the longer she resisted his hold. His flesh hardened beyond reasoning, lightly thrusting upwards to feel her heat on him.

Her breathing hitched when he pressed his mouth to hers, thin labiums driving against her thick ones. Fingernails scratched at his shoulders, his muscular arms pressing her further into him. Those same lips turned from his face, nails scratching and biceps pushing him away but he detained her. Angry, red marks trailed down his cheeks, healing over after she made them.

Well that didn't work.

Words she needed to say died between his lips, Anaya giving a hard yank from his face but it drew him to latch onto her throat. A surprised shout escaped her, jaws clamping shut after she made the sound. He enjoyed the noise, laughing in the crook of her neck before resuming his feast on that spot.

"You rotten piece of shit," she muttered, steeling her nerves from her betraying form sparking the flames of passion. His tongue groped her in ways that ignited her arousal.

He offered another chuckle, giving his response. "Haven't you heard that the lasting loves often blossom from hatred?"

What love would blossom out this predicament? The twisted sort where they can never be together due to their different circumstances? The type where they kept running into each other and soon acted civil; taking time out to see what made the other person who they are and accept them? Oh, how about the love they would share when they started to grow on one another after everything they went through? What bullshit!

Pure contempt is the only thing to spawn out of this. Nothing positive can result from this plight and if it did, then there prevailed the promise of civility, if that.

He interpreted her silence as a sign of using her brain. That motto turned out true for a lot of folks. Often, people attach themselves to those they despise; the hate converges into a twisted fixation.

A deep obsession of emotions spiraled around and consumed one's logical perception, not knowing how to distinguish those feelings into the correct category. In the end, it comes out to be love... a fucked up version of it.

His hands secured her hips to press into his lap, moving up to her chin to gnaw gently on it, diverting her attention from her pondering. "Hmph, I guess I should be saying 'I love you', then."

She leaned backwards, exposing more of the column of her throat to his lips. Initially, he guessed she ceded to his ministrations but previous actions told him otherwise. Quicker than he tried to restrain her, she reared back and head butted him hard on the nose.

Man, he couldn't relax for nothing, the minx always scheming and contemplating on doing shit to get away. He admired her wild fire but knew it came the time to tame her blaze. His nose ebbed in dull throbs from the hit, but it wasn't broken when he touched it.

The fleeing woman reached her car, half-running, half-hobbling after she landed that blow on his face. The door nearly snapped off its hinges after she jumped inside, inserting the key into the ignition, putting her foot on the brake and igniting the automotive beast. She threw the gears into reverse, smashing on the gas as the force of the start jerked her towards the steering wheel, and the startled bump she felt after shifted her in the opposite direction.

Blue-black tresses whipped around a startled visage, blinking twice upon a tall figure leaning against the trunk. At first, she thought she hit a tree, but none were planted behind her. This bastard managed to bypass and sneak up behind her when she didn't see or hear him.

A small smile graced his face, palms evenly placed on either side of the back of the car. Her eyes locked with his, her breathing low and collected, in the midst of deciding her next move. However calm she appeared, Anaya hid her surprise by his sheer strength.

He stopped her vehicle just by shoving his hands out and giving a little op positional force. Who in the world did she go up against? An officer from the military? Some guy who worked as a mercenary? A deranged sociopath? A militant, mercenary sociopath? Yeah, that works.

A masculine throat cleared, his form propped by his elbows resting on the trunk. Those gray eyes penetrated into hers. Tempting. Daring. Wishing that something more challenging came to him. She knew the look he sported, recalling the sensation when the hunt arose.

After setting her sights on a meal, she roved in a playful mood with her catch, undertaking this predatory yet frisky nature. Thick, acrid pheromones led her to her frightened and vanishing prey, ending the chase after her teeth sunk into tender flesh.

In this situation however, she had been reduced to the predisposed victim and the predator wanted to _play_ with her. As if confirming her thoughts, he beckoned his index finger in a teasing manner, tempting her to continue with her escaping actions to tickle his senses.

"I don't believe this," she said with a scoff. Turning around in her seat, she surveyed the landscape for another way out. His house sat high on the mountain, making escaping difficult with no clear path to follow. Fifteen feet of low underbrush expanded the scenery before thick foliage and trees covered the ground. Depending on the view the hill steepened for miles, flat terrain indiscernible from the rest of the forestry. What if she drove off a cliff and then he brought her back to do the same thing?

"Stay and humor him or fall off the cliff," she wondered out loud, weighing her choices and seeing which one will get her out of here. Considering the results of those options led to him as the victor.

"Well, fuck it then."

Her foot barely touched the gas pedal when she smashed into the steering wheel; the heightened angle of the car keeping her pressed into the horn.

"What the fuck?" Her eyes strained to see what happened but didn't get the chance to. The vehicle slammed into the pavement with swift velocity, propelling her to bump her skull against the roof. She heard the door wrench open, too slow to react to the sound when sharp nails dug into her scalp, pulling her out the car, limbs flailing in protest.

Standing her up on her feet, he offered his own head butt to the bruise on the right side of her temple. Her body reeled backwards, vision spinning when a powerful pounding erupted on the sore spot. Strong legs felt heavy, no longer able to support her weight in the course of sagging to the bottom. He seemed to be a step ahead of everything she did, making it pointless to fight him.

Disoriented, she found it perplexing to understand what came to pass in her life right now. Day to day she lived doing nothing special, save for running a small, rustic hotel... and maybe feeding on a few victims there. A few outings with trips to the spa and voyages around the world occupied her time yet hardly anything exciting occurred; being the only one of her kind like her. If she wanted to snag Valerie and jet-set with her everywhere, then that option stayed available. But she didn't want to occupy her sham of a living.

And then this guy came along, so much like her in mutant abilities and so unlike her in social instances. Perhaps that's the excuse why she... interacted with him in the manner she did; wanted to get to know him better despite what transpired. Or is all this a ploy to insert some excitement in her routine?

At first, she entertained the idea to play his game, but now it felt tasteless. She wore the stubborn trait well and sometimes her strong will backfired on her. She liked being in control of her life and her actions. Her drive pushed through any obstacle, letting her overcome unique burdens, like hiding her biological nature from those who hated and feared mutants.

Anaya crawled on her hands and knees towards the driver's seat, desperate to cling to her willpower quickening to depart from her grasp. Strong hands cradled and hoisted ample hips, a sturdy form pressing behind her as her legs failed to hold her weight. The muscular body, along with hers, nudged to the house in a quiet but broken stroll. Those giant palms wrapped around her waist, her head slack lying against his chest.

Purple eyes closed, striving to stop her swirling thoughts. Her psyche raced with options to flee; give in and submit; talk some sense into him; rationalize with him before she lashed out at him. Pulsating discomfort silenced her ideas, forcing her to think of nothing cunning for the pain continued to wear her down.

Cool, hardened floor tingled her hot feet before soft, comfortable flooring came next, knowing they were back in the living room but not realizing how they got there so quickly; mind a jumbled mess in the process.

Thighs hit the corner of something firm when her upper half bent forward by her neck, crushing her face into soft pillows on the couch. His length grounded into her; the thick cotton of the robe too bulky to feel the hardness in full but thin enough to know its presence. A knowing spike in her scent shifted Victor into a lust-filled haze, pushing him to conquer it.

In his bout to quell what had often not been controlled, Victor's rare generosity and his sometimes delicate, harsh exploration of the flesh made him target the innocent frails.

For Victor, sexual pleasure consisted not only of untamed lust but of flippancy; depraved play and a perverse, detached curiosity. There, he could be as inventive and imaginative as he was unscrupulous, as adventurous as he was amoral.

Those women he gained advantage over were the ones who tried to deny his carnal fulfillment; that need to be in control of desire instead of it controlling him. Sure, the sweet dames allowed him to bring out this lewd side when his libido raged on, but the drive that women like Anaya possessed boiled his blood, when he had the patience for it.

Frantic hands clutched the end of the robe. He laughed at her effort, taking the bottom of the thick cloth and flinging it over her waist. A squeal of embarrassment escaped her smothered lips, yet he didn't know why she griped. She should be moaning, having a real man appreciate the curves of a woman.

Firm muscle coiled over her shape, leading him to think about her workout routine. Pronounced and defined muscle covered her physique but not to the point deemed to be unattractive. Taut legs stood shapely and strong; the floor the only thing stopping her leggy limbs. But that ass...

He couldn't help but squeeze those massive globes and watch her shudder in restraint. A large hand slithered down her spine and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling her arched back towards him, then her head. "You need something to shut that trap up and... enjoy what I do to you."

With no sound made he yanked her to stand,turning her to face him, searching in her glossy eyes. Blanking out his existence showed clear on her profile.

"This isn't happening,” she muttered with a sluggish tone.

Those words triggered a sensation within him, that lust-haze growing stronger with heated velocity, taking a couple breaths to steel his nerves under control.

Her weakness soared as a bursting display, it called to his inner devil to claim it for all its worth. The little remark let him realize that she submitted to him, tired of trying to deny him, and maybe herself.

In a move too fast for her to comprehend, her back pinned against the wall, legs open on either side while he pressed against her to hold her up. Her eyes avoided his, staring right at his collarbone; Victor continuing his assessment of her. The feral fingered a few locks away before her head snapped to the side, neglecting his touch. Unfazed by the gesture, he resumed his ministrations, basking in her defeated poise... or so he assumed.

That stubborn fire of hers ceased to flare down. Those lithe fingers started scratching and slapping, pushing his shoulders with her face evading his contact. As she fought to prevent the inevitable from happening, he kept increasing his enthusiasm on her until she gave in. Of course he would have his satisfaction from her no matter what happened, but he found a great joy in toying with her.

The tug-of-war persisted, Anaya providing weak, defensive attacks and Victor nearly overpowering her with offensive ones. She grew flustered with his unrelenting tenacity, finally giving up by turning her face to the left and stilling her motions. Her yielding made him attack in earnest, drawing back a little before diving forward to suckle on her throat.

The unexpected movement surprised her, responding by closing her knees and quivering from the sensation. Deep chuckles reverberated in her neck, strong hands running along the outside of her thighs to cradle her buttocks.

A harsh whisper expelled from her lips, traveling towards his ear before she exhaled in a hushed tone. "How soon are you throwing me away after this?"

Perhaps she ran off at the mouth, sound ideas lacking thorough assessment in advance to speaking her thoughts. Negative emotions expressing anger or rebellion pressed to fuel his desire. Giving in to him would only kick up his ego to the highest of highs. So in essence, she lost this battle no matter what route she chose.

"Don't know why you resisted in the first place. That was a stupid thing to do."

Revolting eyes and thinned lips met his smug visage, knowing he would ignore her if she started hitting him again. A vacant expression through gray eyes spoke of no remorse or guilt of what happened to her regardless of the outcome. Long as he pleasured himself, he didn't care of the results.

Maybe that's the reason he killed and manipulated with ease.

If he showed worry about something, then hesitation ran its course and caution gave way to heedfulness. Yet since he didn't consider those actions or hold them at face value, he achieved those horrid efforts without it plaguing his thoughts at night.

The thought may have been true now, but what of the dream she had earlier? What about the boy he seemed so protective of in the memories she recollected? Judging by their interactions, he cared for the youth and that looked to be a vision he kept buried with intention. There might be a way out of this after all; she could use his memory and confront him. Gathering her mind skills she probed his brain, seeing what his current mood presented.

Gripping her under her thighs, he moved towards the bedroom to finish what he initiated, noting her calmer demeanor. Did she accept her circumstance, that control belonged to him and escape isn't allowed until he deemed it so?

Nonetheless, he would strengthen his defense. Victor picked up on her routine, pretending to submit to his wiles then tricking him otherwise.

Withdrawing her telepathy from within the scope of his mind, she internally smiled because he still expected her to do something slick. She could play the submissive role until she brought up the subject of the dream.

* * *

 Victor dropped her unceremoniously in the middle of the bed, clutching the ribbon of her robe, Anaya putting her feet against his chest and her hands in opposition to his shoulders. He gazed down at her stilts, seeing how the robe opened to lie on either side of her body. Gray eyes glanced at her face, her head cocked with her eyes giving him a narrowed, warning look. And in response, he angled his head too, returning a toothy smirk before he ripped off the garment's belt.

Anaya scurried to the opposite side end off the bed, keeping the thick cloth wrapped around her the best she could. A replay of earlier happened when her leg sought refuge in his grasp, kicking out the other to try and hit him without much force. He took the bait, pulling her into him, her grip tightening on the bathrobe.

Anaya wanted to shrink away from his touch, squirming when his palms traveled beneath the robe and groped her derriere. Her eyelids closed, listening to the way her body responded to his hands, awakening to the pleasure assumed to be lost.

Without her full consent she relaxed her physique some, slackening the reigns of her willpower while Victor kneaded her backside. Eyes opened to look past his shoulder, forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand instead of the coaxing feeling arising throughout her being. She just had to; staying focused sustained her main priority to leaving from here.

In the quiet of the room, broken by his low pants and her stifled moans, the mutantess reflected about her lessening resentment of him in _that_ moment. Holding a grudge never suited her well, a life lesson that stuck with her as time passed. It waned when she knew the biggest threat to humanity lied within their mortality. Tormenting someone who pressed on her nerves gave her a hobby though.

Using the principle now, should she hold animosity over this man? She outlived most of her oppressors, so in the end what need is there to repress anguish towards them; laughing at their fragile, fleshy shells and lifespan sufficed enough for her payback. Yet he could regenerate, so she'd have to do more than let time do its thing right, if he ages slower too?

Had she been some human then she would have scaled the rough landscape to her freedom. However, since she wasn't a Homo Sapien, she can endure a little more... drama than most. By no means did it give him the right to violate her.

Lips traveled down a smooth neck, teeth lightly grazing the column, lowly growling after he sensed her relax. Time made a show of something the colonel could control at his will, leaving Victor without the opportunities he wanted to unwind in his own way. Case in point, the quicker she stopped putting on a front, the more he managed to get out of her.

The vixen must have read his mind. Shaky hands slowly unclenched from the cloth, crawling to rest around his neck, letting the robe fall open. Her front rose and fell with each calm breath, body settling down from its timid state to lean against his own.

"Now, that's a good girl," he crooned, leaning towards her, face nuzzling between the valley of her breasts; inhaling her blackberries and vanilla scent before he explored her in depth.

"So you say." Despite responding in a semi-playful, seductive tone, her message rang clear. After having stroked his flames of lust, she geared to pull out her trump card and be done with this. Mindful however, to keep on her toes; those last attempts of her feminine wiles didn't achieve its original purpose. He possessed a crafty mind for a brute, she's give him that much.

He pulled away from her to see her heavy, dark-brown tipped breasts, bending to nip one until he heard her gasp moving to the other. "Let's hope for your sake you play nice. I may not be so forgiving it you don't be still."

Victor watched her reactions to get a feel for her state of mind. He couldn't decrease his defenses with her cunning actions. When he believed her to be in a placid mood, here comes an act of resistance to throw him off.

Anaya met the gaze evenly, offering no facial expression to his words. There implied a magnetic energy about him she couldn't quite place; a certain homey charm he demanded buried deep inside his soul. She had seen glimpses of that enthrallment under his bravado, and there drifted a small wonder as to whether he would display more of that on his own or if she would let him.

Entranced in her own deductions he kissed her, massaging his lips against hers and kneading her hips. He rolled them over to the bed's center, settling in between her legs to move in slow pauses down her curves. Victor trailed to her stomach, mustache tickling her torso the more he savored her midsection. Special attention gathered under the area of her navel, biting and suckling at the spot and enjoying the way she jerked and flinched under his touch.

Thick palms roamed everywhere on her; touching, probing, rubbing, feeling. Mildly exploring the crooks and lumps that perdued as her form. The vixen's body seemed to release whatever remaining tension it held inside her, allowing him the contact he craved.

Small, deep chortles erupted from the confines of his throat, startling her out of her comfort zone to look down at him. He retreated lower and lower, eyes staring straight into hers hovering above her warmth, running his hand along the her damp slit.

Her deceptive lust ignited, toes twitching when a long tongue licked the whole of her in one fell swoop. Oh, how she wished this situation didn't happen as it did. She could envision images of their carnal desire mounting, releasing themselves through unbridled passion. But the time for that had expired. It didn't matter if he fucked her senseless, he assaulted her almost to the verge of death.

The feral pressed his mouth against her wet folds, holding her by the thighs when she jerked; the sudden sensation making her scoot away from him. She recovered from the arousing touch, sitting up with her elbows supporting her upper weight to voice her breathless complaint. "You know, I don't have pre-marital affairs on the second date either. This is against-"

"Too bad for you," he retorted in dark heat, removing the sensual ambiance with a cold aura settling around them. He crouched above her like a triumphant beast, "I go by my own rules, you'll be seeing things my way."

He dove towards her, incisors latching on to her collarbone, teeth clamping down into supple flesh. Hands naturally came up to push away at his face, body resisting his touch now that his aggression flooded into the mix.

In his mind, turnabout is fair play. He lured down her defenses and retaliated when she thought he would relax his guard. She loved doing that shit to him; he just returned the gesture.

In the end, he looked out for himself, especially concerning his livelihood. Aided by his adolescent years brought up in abnormal circumstances, he learned to take or be taken; to get what you can before someone took advantage for selfish purposes.

A sea of soft, plush waves coiled over his fingers when his hand found her scalp again, oblivious to her protesting snips, throwing her to the floor. She landed on her weak side; staying still a moment after the sharp, spiking pain throttled through her, a scowl marring her face.

A pitted ball of scathing hatred formed in her gut, muscles clenching to gouge out his eyes, wanting to secure her own teeth in his flesh until the concept of breathing left him. Yet she couldn't at the moment, knowing he watched her gestures to subdue her if need be; she'd only end up harming herself further.

Victor lowered himself on the bed, placing his leg on either side of her prostrate position. Fingers crept towards his length, squeezing it once in anticipation to plunge into her moist cavern. The zipper pulled down, forcing her onto her knees and cupping her chin in his one hand. Her defiant streak rose with her pensive gaze but a solid knee to her ribs stopped her rebellion. Victor gained a hold of her again, leaning to reveal his authority.

"You know, I could have suckled on that sweet pussy of yours until you couldn't think anymore but since you like to play around so much, it's your loss." Reaching down to grasp his sex, he held it up to her bleary eyes, letting her soak in the role of whom ordained to please who. "Now if you would so oblige, its time for me to get some lovin' in." A smug expression pierced his visage, hidden over a more threatening, dangerous look that possessed the feature to pierce her to her core.

Ebbs of discomfort throbbed in her ribs; her head swirling after the pain increased instead of dulling over. True to her thoughts he had anticipated her moves, canceling any ideas she had about her defiance.

Her mind blanked out after the sudden texture of a rough build darted into her mouth.

Feeding into his anger and dominance exhibited a gesture she wouldn't commit to. His strength demanded her submission, surrendering her moral responsibility to fuel his desire. It may deter him, if he witnessed her un-enthused notions of this indignant act; she refused to put any effort forth. Everything else she's done this far amused his aloof persona.

His palms held her tightly by her hair, controlling the speed with which he entered and exited out of her mouth. Enraged and shaking palms stayed in her lap, refusing to touch him. Purple eyes hid behind closed eyelids, mind devoid of any thoughts or memories while he seemed undeterred by her silent protest. Or more in fact, he appeared humored.

Laughing in dark mirth, he gloated at her. "You've got one hell of a backbone on you. Always showing off your ass-" He thrusted deeply, hearing choking sounds exploding from within her throat, lithe fingers coming forward to brace herself against his knees. "-when you think it's working in your favor." Victor let her go with a harsh push to the floor, looking upon her wet warmth lying exposed before him.

The mutantess coughed, lungs exhaling out air in force since the injury to her side still throbbed. Against her body's will she scooted away from him, caring less that the robe lay open to expose the full of her.

The rising anger brewing in her being peaked, overcoming her unease with his temperament and bullying ways. Blame should be something she needed to fault herself with she hurriedly thought. Life, for her earlier on, meant nothing more except fight or flight, an important key to survival when one had limited choices.

When her resources gave way to limited options a couple days prior, why did she not take flight? Instinct assumed the role she relied upon and it rarely let her down, however she remained blinded by some fool and his animalistic charm, thinking she could handle this beast. In bereft of following her guts she wound up with nobody to point the finger at but herself.

Anaya drew in a deep breath and allowed herself the luxury of a true feeling coming forth; of what she denied until now. A seething heat settled on her heart, biting her tongue to prevent from submerging in its negative zeal. She permitted him to over power her, ignoring intellect and trapping herself into this.

The feral's angry, lustful eyes stared at her, standing up to walk over to pick her up. She straightened up and said _stop_ , holding out her hand before she clutched the robe.

Victor snorted, rolling his eyes at her attempt to conceal her immodesty; he already seen the exotic landscape laying under the thick fabric. He hoisted her up and threw her onto the bed, getting ready to plunge into her velvet tightness when her next words stopped him, bringing old wounds to the surface.

"I'm pretty sure Jimmy didn't tolerate this shit when he didn't follow your orders!"

He halted his approach; the words from her mouth sending all his nerves on alert. Sharp images of his past pierced his mind, then quickly shoving them back into their darkened mental prison. He flinched, expression settling into neutrality but a murderous rage ached to get through to her. Very few people knew of his and James' relation, save for Stryker, the team, and a few government officials. Who is she exactly and what made her bring up his past like that?

In a move too quick for her to evade extended claws clasped around her neck, dragging her to the wall while lifted, his erection rubbing against her leg, too upset to tuck it. A forefinger pressed to her throat, disabling her from breathing after his hold tightened.

"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, pressing his grip tighter when she failed to answer. Realizing his error, he loosened his finger to allow her to talk.

The vixen didn't comment on his inquiry, instead opting to answer the one she knew floated on his mind. "The memories of those... bitten are seen by me, but only for some time until I-argh... I forget about them." Her eyes welled up with his iron-clad grip tightening once again. The name brought up must have left a sore spot on him, but she answered in truth.

He just found out she possessed some offshoot form of telepathic ability... and that's the reason behind his anger?

The wary look on his face lingered while he considered the validity of her statement, wondering if she had mind-fucking abilities and how far the extended. For her sake, she better respond to the next question correctly or else she came under the risk of a beheading.

"If you treat people... in a manner such as this, it's no wonder why Jimmy isn't around." Though she didn't know the specifics of who or where Jimmy resided, something unknown told her that the two fell out, what with the his lack of manners as the cause.

After their time spent together, she didn't even know his name. Nothing around his home, such as papers or documents, were found with any sort of a name.

She predicted he wouldn't like the answer and choke her until she passed out. Might as well go out with a pathetic attempt at a fight then none at all.

A forward pull jerked her body before being thrusted backwards; the sounds of cement falling thick from where her head connected to the wall. The metallic scent of copper filled her nostrils while she fell to the floor, blackness crawling over her sight as her body turned numb.

Victor raised his eyes from her unconscious form, seeing the trail of blood dripping down the wall. The vivid color reminding him of the many fights he and his brother fought, where their enemies' blood tainted the earth in waves of crimson. Now, it stayed as a distant memory, flashing pieces of a past that wanted to be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter came harder than the rest, maybe because I worked on it and stopped, so I really wasn't satisfied with the end result. But I cleaned up some of the clutter and hopefully it makes sense.


	7. Tiger and Mouse

The earthy wind blew scents of native herbs and damp pine wafting through enlarged nostrils. Smells of various animal pheromones came out of their secluded habitats to search for food. Night had its own way of unveiling a creature's true temperament, letting inhibitions fly without guarding hidden secrets.

It was in this moment when Victor felt at his prime.

There held a flowing, carnal beauty to the wilderness. The lack of imprisonment society bestowed upon him slid off to allow room to roam around as free as nature intended.

Air cooled to its lowest temperatures, his skin prickling with the scent of a live kill approaching his vicinity. Dark spruce forest guarded him well in the shadows, even from the nocturnal creatures with the excellent night vision.

His crouch was low and agile, moving with a stealth to be envied by the best of the wild animals built for such a feat. Brittle twigs and moist leaves were moved over in a careful manner so as to not alert the prey.

In an open clearing surrounded by a thicket of dense, green shrubbery grazed a lonesome buck, antlers beginning to showcase his rising status into manhood. His build stood sleek yet strong, nimble yet sturdy as he attended to the damp meadow nestled before him. Every few minutes or so the deer paused in his meal, steeling itself from any mobility when a noise alerted him.

Self-control happened to be something that morphed into instinct for the feral, honed upon over the years with his acquaintance of the wild. One wrong sudden movement could send the target scattering off, interrupting the flow with which he used as a signal to strike.

Fifteen minutes passed. The roe headed in an unknown area towards a steep cliff holding a conglomerate of sharp rocks; the grass he munched on too delicious to take heed of where it led him. Should he try to escape, though Victor posed to deliver the final blow beforehand, the options of a wide space for departure closed in haste.

To the left held a piece of a mountain which provided an excellent dead end; the rock reaching well over thirty feet and stretching sixty feet horizontally. To the right a bevy of uneven stones scattered across the landscape, the gravel possessing jagged edges too high of a risk to hop over. He ran the chance of landing between the rubble, legs twisting in the tropes of running from the unfamiliar land. The back held death.

It was rare to see a young buck on its lonesome, passing through Victor's territory at that. Of course it spawned the time for the stag to leave the herd in its mature state, yet the group populated this region on the corners of his empire.

He kept his distance, giving the stag ten meters of space before moving. Hands and feet remained the only body parts to connect to the ground, weight distributed in equal sections; his form moved in stealth-like rhythm through the meadow. Victor stalked closer, hiding behind a tree three yards from his game. The roe ate in complete engrossment with the meal at hand to sense any lurking danger. Muscles coiled and tightened in the feral's hind legs, ready to pounce onto his prey and take it back to his loft.

An opening came for Victor to strike, darting high into the air to pounce on the deer. The mutant's intentions lied in cutting a deep gash in the stag's throat... if it hadn't been for the common nighthawk squawking to the cosmos. The hunter might have succeeded, the bird warning his neighbors to this deadly hazard traversing in the night.

The four-legged animal started up at the sound, seeing a black figure leaping out the shadows at him. Prior to reacting to the threat he felt sharp talons piercing into its thick mass of flesh. Panic settled into the venison, groaning out loud in protest, defiant to become a meal. The mutant retained his claws inside the buck, securing a solid grip after it twisted and turned every which way. He bucked his hind legs to throw off the predator. The antlers came at him next, the deer lowering his head to angle the bone-made material to pierce him.

A final glare traveled en route to the bird before gripping the left antler. The feral perceived a more powerful struggle blooming since its main origin of defense became compromised. He had to dismantle this frictional force before it grew stronger, denying the thought of the buck escaping and finding another source for food.

"You're a feisty little fucker, aren't you," Victor snarled.

The stag grunted and growled, sensing its predator skirmish in his pursuit to defeat him. Cries of despair morphed into a more determined huff now that his death didn't appear so imminent. Legs pushed into the ground to solidify his build, moving two of them at a time, holding its head high on offensive maneuvers.

More wages of endurance pressed onward, each being of similar tendencies of nature pushing and pulling to overpower the other, one never giving in to permit victory. The bird, despite its tiny mouth shrilled the night away, warning all to keep their distance.

Lest to say the noise wrung on the mutant's nerves, turning that energy onto the roe. His right arm slung over the buck's neck, securing a firm grip before grabbing the antlers with his left. He pulled each grasp in the opposite direction, the strain of the pull making the animal's grunts convert into screams of pain.

At first he let the contest wage on, allowing the venison to experience the balance of power _shift_ into his control. He toyed with the animal, releasing the twisting position to allow him a sense of freedom then repeating the action. He insisted on letting the deer know his dominance.

The incessant chirping from the avian watcher drove his concentration on edge. His jerky hand gestures twisted the roe's neck too hard, snapping the bones. In an instant the deer ceased its movement, sliding out of Victor's grasp to lie motionless on the floor.

"Oops, my bad," he huffed without a tact of emotion.

Night stilled its eccentric cacophony of ebullient noises, silence creeping within the land to strangle the functions the nocturnal dwellers created daily. Death came in the form of a statuesque build, strong arms, limber legs and a disposition not meant for the faint of heart.

A delicious coil simmered inside his being, filling up the holes with a much needed energy required to sustain his virility. Goosebumps prickled his skin, sensing an overwhelming response flood his senses, taking over his soul with a magnetic fire rising from his feet. A deafening roar burst from his mouth, quieting the forest from the notion of sound.

Oh, that was _good_. It's been too long since he mingled in his environment. Too many assignments he voyaged upon didn't give him the complete control he craved. He always had to capture, torture and collect, but never kill the intended target unless specified. Injuring the person in the job description took the edge off, but the lack of a whole kill compressed into this balloon ready to burst with rage.

Dread or remorse lacked the conviction he needed to express remorse to the people he harmed. In essence he cared less what happened to who, as long as his interests met his requirements then the world can burn alive. Just the aura of power over the weaker fodder gave him satisfaction better than any high.

The wilderness brought joy that sustained material objects didn't outlast. No one had to tell him the irrationality of taking a life. To wallow in the natural setting meant freedom; a break from the craziness society demanded he conform to. He left that universe behind to find his own interpretation of normality.

Until Ms. Potty Mouth brought up his past.

He had to admit it; she caught him off guard and good. It's been a while since he reminisced about the hard times with James. The freezing nights sleeping on Canadian soil; the food he sacrificed for himself just to keep his little brother's strength from disappearing. The miles they ran to escape the bounty hunters intent on ripping their heads off opened his eyes to the cruelty of the world. Those men displayed eager hatred to rid of any faults in a person regardless of their age. Needless to say he returned the favor tenfold back onto the earth, eliminating the mistakes known as humans.

Should he have killed kill the woman? Did he consider her unworthy to live? Well no, for the most part. She exhibited the traits of the living dead and the ability to recall memories by means of blood transfusion. Something of that caliber could prove useful for what whims he had in store, or she might have.

Shrugging off his musings he held fast to the stag's side, giving a slight heave upon hoisting it onto his shoulders. The nighthawk eyeballed from its position in the tree, silence befallen on the avian creature, following in surprise as the carcass carried off into the night. The roe's obsidian eyes stared as lifeless as an unlit candle, the glimmer faded into the depths of darkness.

S-s-S-s-S

"Ow wow a baby caribou. Bet he put up a fight, huh?"

This woman and her indifferent ways.

After twenty minutes of half-jogging the kill back home he went into his slaughter house beneath the garage. He sawed, gutted and chopped off parts of the animal and packaged them for future use, for himself. When he noticed minor specialty knives missing he traveled into his kitchen.

On his search for his cutting tools he happened a glance out the window, freezing in mid-stride at the sight set before him. Curious and guarded as ever, he made his way to the front porch, hearing her shout her earlier question to him. Cautious feet walked on his cobblestone driveway, hackles on edge at the nerve of her down-rightness.

"I guess it's my fault since you don't have much in your fridge, lazy hotel customs you know." She sat on the hood of her car, one leg propped on the grille, head held high in her hand, giving the notion to cradling her headache. She still kept his robe on, this time wrapped tight around her anatomy. It allowed him to see her face, hands and the lower part of her calves on to her feet.

Victor stared at her in silent rout, concealing his slight fascination of her ability to offer coherent speech after her head cracked open a few hours ago. Instead of the vibrant woman so adamant to fly around him with her womanly crafts, he saw a vulnerable sack of sad flesh.

She continued to boil his blood, nevertheless.

Libido aside, he didn't know what to make of her just yet. An enemy to his thoughts maintained an obvious fact, but she said she viewed a person's past via plasma transfusion. Did that power extend to any memory or the ones most pressing on the victim's mind? Idly he wondered if she should prove useful on Stryker's team, on his orders.

Perhaps her powers can lend a hand to retaining information from unwilling or forgetful participants. After she absorbed their memories he'd spend the rest of his time pumping her with images that _she_ could remember. Yes, she might make a nice addition to the bunch to keep him calm when shit went awry.

"I would've left from here, but I don't know where any trails are that my car can ride. Can you... point me in the right direction?"

This has to be the strangest dilemma she had ever encountered. Laughter threatened to spill over her lips yet the gravity of her predicament kept it lodged in her throat. She'd have to review that 'no holding grudges' policy because she looked like a complete idiot.

When he didn't move to make a respond Anaya rolled her eyes, readying to get into her car and ride around until she sought safety or ran out of gas. Approaching footsteps redirected her attention to him, noticing the way his profile read no available emotion. Her first idea foreshadowed a violent exchange, the man in question not satisfied that she didn't _stay_ dead.

His long strides reached her, Anaya ready to fend him off no matter her current, weakened state. He grabbed her hand holding the keys, making a show to take them from her. She resisted, moving from him but grew concerned if he should striker her. His strength endured too much, tugging on the metal trinket until it wrenched from her grasp. The mutantess stumbled into him, immediately recoiling away prior to tripping into his build; refraining from eliciting another match with his demented perversion.

A twinge of a briny aroma rose to the surface, rolling off her in small waves after her keys fled her. Caution earned precedence through her body language in case of an uprising in violence. For a few seconds he marveled her physique, coming to appreciate how the moon's light enveloped her face in this angelic blue sheen; profound purple gaze penetrating into him. The vixen's hair embodied this violet radiance. Despite the mane's frazzled presentation it still showed lush and full, tempting him to come closer and pull on it.

This feisty minx deviated from his stagnant routine. Such a rarity to find a woman bouncing back from a cracked skull, especially given her biology. Fetching an enigma like her ordered to bring the big bucks in from the colonel, but money didn't garner an issue with him. He didn't know what to do with the amount he already obtained.

Without regard to his current occupation he wanted to probe her, in more ways than one.

With a cruel smirk he turned around and went into his house. A dark chuckle eased through his lips, tossing her keys up in the air to catch them on a lone finger. Ideas crept along to the methods of 'persuasion' he planned to influence her with. Which decisions will satisfy his curiosity and quell the animal rattling its cage for freedom? Oh well, he'd mull it over right after he tended to his food problem.

S-s-S-s-S

Anaya swallowed, unsure of what to say."That's not going to help me get out of here!"

Borderline stupidity is what her mind deliberated on for the past ten minutes. After he vanished somewhere behind the house her nervousness started to attack her insides, making her queasy about the beast she strayed so close to―while still in his territory.

She continued to argue she couldn't leave here either way she looked at it. Her dilemma lied to drive around until she found an exit, search for days on foot or, unbelievably, ask him for directions. As illogical the last idea sounded her choices lessened next to non-existent to get to safety. It seemed logical to lose her pride for the time being.

_This is childish and pathetic. What do you call yourself doing?_

Oh, she fooled herself. The fault lied solely on her, ignoring her wits to leave back in the alley and her issues escalated from there. Alternatives lied open to her departure and she neglected to take advantage of any of them. If her biological nature had been human, she'd have fought to the end to preserve her existence. However, did that nurture the reason she didn't perceive it as such a necessity to flee? She could inhabit torture and abuse and everything would be fine, eventually. Anaya wasn't immortal, yet a cranial tap can't kill her.

She limped over to his porch, taking a cautionary seat with a throbbing hurt ebbed behind her head. Her temporary comfort stopped when he came out the door, blood showering his shirtless torso, his hands seemed to bathe in the rose-red color.

His muscular arms connected to powerful torso, designed to deliver heavy blows or to hug a woman, if he decided _not_ to violate her. Those shoulders were made to tackle the strongest of his opposition, able to carry their gruesome deaths on top of his anatomy to prove of his control. His abs showed thick and taut, conveying its indomitable nature to withstand any force. Her typical female reaction had her brain falling out her ass but held onto her logic, registering in the dazed, blood lust smoldering in his eyes.

"Come here," he crooned, a dark essence seeming to rise from his being.

"No." Her arms rested on the arm rests, ready to run if his sanity deteriorated further. "How 'bout you give me my keys?"

He smiled, showing his fangs at her refusal. "Your time for leaving is over. Should have done that long ago.” He ceased his smirk. "Come here, now."

Indecision ate at her insides, questioning the many actions that diminished in rapid succession. If she answered his request he'd bring harm to her, and if she stayed rooted he'd automatically hurt her. Running didn't even formulate a question since his aura beckoned her to start a chase, to ignite a growing thirst eager to be quenched by her unwilling involvement.

"I'm screwed.” Anaya meant it to come out as a whisper but it flowed from her lips.

"You're going to get screwed, but this falls on you, so yeah." There lied a condescending smirk gracing his mouth that irritated her, energizing her with the need to jump and scratch it off.

Victor advanced upon her, fists clenching and unclenching, small droplets of gore spotting the patio floor. She smelled the savory metallic essence her body craved, following the flow of his palms, her senses tuned into the sharp scent.

"Oh that's right-" he taunted, rubbing his hands together then lightly blowing the fragrance her way. He saw her nails grip the chair, breath hitching when the aroma infiltrated into her olfactory networks. Victor continued until he stopped in front of her, gloating at her weakness. "-little mock vampire can't be without her juice."

The feral ran his index finger along the side of her face, laughing at her futile effort to refrain from licking his fingers. He found it necessary to hold the same digit against her lips, watching her eyes close to concentrate. She turned her head away in defense.

"Why are you refusing a free offer?" he narrowed his eyes with a questioning glance, bending down to cradle her hips, the minx stilling her movements in her seated position. Her face retained the same simper to avoid his sample.

"You're making me look like a fool," she strained her words, letting him know his effects lacked the strength to working on her, Victor leaning to nuzzle her neck.

Creed's laugh ruptured as smothered growls by her throat, finding it entertaining at her fighting prowess no matter how absurd her predicament. "On the contrary my dear, you are the one who didn't try your chance at survival. You had over three days to make it to safety, so since you didn't, that means you _wanted_ to stay, right? You looked an idiot from the get-go."

Faster than he delved into gnawing on her succulent column she dove into his first, sharp canines securing a grip on his jugular; the red river pouring smooth into her eager mouth. Her fingers grasped a firm hold on his shoulders, gaining leverage to steady herself, draining his life force away from him.

_Get away you idiot, that's enough!_ Her mind chided her after she continued to drain him, the sweet liquid flowing too warm and juicy down her throat to release. Just a few more seconds she thought, then she'd be good to go to combat whatever tryst he retaliated against her with.

The opening when her fangs retreated from inside his flesh inhered the motion when he attacked her, pulling her build to the floor right on top of his. Quicker than she could level herself he flipped them over on the ground, clawing at the cottony fabric covering her front.

The familiar sensation of skin tearing from flesh tingled his core, wanting to feel more of the slick texture. He straddled himself across her torso, limiting her advancements, enjoying her defensive gestures. Her limbs made pitiful endeavors to punch him in the face, Victor smacking her flying appendages to knock her arm off balance. The vixen's next window of opportunity drove to scratching him, long and angry red marks marring his tanned physique.

"Ouch," he voiced out his injury in a charismatic way, barely exhibiting any concept of empathy, other than the knitting of eyebrows. "That hurts."

The scratching stopped, Amethyst hues seeing her red marks erasing from his epidermis, sealing from their place of impact all the way to where her fingertips indented his skin.

"You're like me," she whispered with a calm tone. She knew mutant abilities varied far and wide in terms of diversity, and she knew some traits required different levels of concentration to achieve their full power.

His regenerative skills allowed him to suffer sufficient injuries and heal from them, but similar to her or something else? Did it also let him age slower than the average human or did his competency share characteristics with Valerie? But his wounds sealed up so the notion ruled out; Valerie couldn't instantly regenerate from cuts.

The feral stared down at her a second longer, taking in her revelation before drawing his lips upwards. He recognized her anger dissipating, an inquisitive feeling brewing deep within her being to query about his history. He contained a guess she wanted to talk to distract him from having fun with her. For the most part conversing wouldn't be a problem... in another life.

Four claw marks tore the side of her cheek. Rivulets of crimson seeped out of the wounds, Anaya laying there stunned. She heard him licking his fingers, tasting her heated infuriation with a satisfied groan. "Oh we are alike frail-" he rocked his pelvis forward, Anaya commanding the scars to close. "-in that we're both mutants and that's where it ends."

The bloody scratches disappeared, skin knitting as if nothing happened. Victor observed her rapid healing, seeing how quick her profile transformed into its once smooth display. Are her regenerative abilities on par with his, maybe even of a greater degree? However her restoration implied that her recovery coincided with her intake of the sanguine substance. If so, he needed to cut her open four more times until she fell back into equilibrium, since she swallowed the same amount when she suckled from him.

When he made another playful strike at her, her body disappeared from under him, eager to use the last of her reserves to vanish from his needy advances. Withal, in his line of work, he familiarized himself with the moves of a teleporter.

He wasn't sure if it prevailed in their DNA to moleculize their bodies right behind him. It occurred in a continuous fashion so simple to follow. Jon Wraith's moves are so damn predictable in his move set, and as he anticipated she formulated behind him with Victor there to greet her.

"Agh!" she screamed out, finding sharp nails and fingertips embedded into her after she reassembled her physique. Anaya's hands wrapped around his wrist, contending to dislodge his digits from within her stomach.

Anaya's intervention came to an abrupt halt when she felt his claws curl in her insides, like he aimed to grasp onto something in her interior if she tried anything funny. How did he get here so quick? More importantly, how did he assume she enjoined to land in this exact spot? Did his mutant faculties also extend to teleportation or he could just move fast?

The feral stepped backwards, hand still planted inside of her silhouette, a smile spread on his face. An upward motion of his fingertips made her keel into him, grunting in agony with the red liquid seeping into the fabric. His nose dived to the top of her head, deeply inhaling her hair's scent, marveling in her weakened state.

"Tell me something little psychic, why don't you dig in and tell me what's on my mind?"

"Go blow yourself!"

My, my. What a stubborn skull she held on her shoulders, but his remained even harder, connecting his rock solid forehead to her temple. She fell backwards with a semi-conscious disposition, cradling her head while her legs thumped on the ground.

If she forced her reckless moves the short burst of energy she stole away from him would deplete. She didn't assume her kidnapper wanted these vicious games to continue, opting to believe he inclined towards engaging in loose communication with her when he took her keys, again.

To what purpose did this chew-toy session serve to bring him? Is it just for his amusement? Did he harm her on the concept alone that she could take a hit? Or perhaps he truly enjoyed abusing the mutantess to appease his psychopathic tendencies? It made an obvious show that whatever he underwent with his half-brother played a heavy role in how he is as an adult. An _asshole_ of an adult.

"See now, that wasn't nice," Creed walked closer to her, taking a forceful hold of her lush hair before pulling her to stand. The woman jerked off balance, leaning unwillingly into his chest.

"You should have told me my fortune, psychic. But you should have known what I wanted when I told you to come here."

Thin lips pressed against full ones, cradling an obstinate head steady as the kiss grew richer, on his part. Her pitched shouts came out muffled, teeth puncturing her labiums, drawing streams of crimson down both of their chins. The more she resisted the harder he clamped down on her.

It would be her fault if she tore her lips away from his hold, probably keeping a piece of the thick flesh wedged between his fangs. He could imagine her expression, a red water flowing free from the gap where her lips once resided. Just for kicks, to forever immortalize the priceless contortion her face allowed to show, he would swallow the bloodied meat to amuse himself in the future.

"Fuck!" Victor growled in shock, cradling his nether region after his deviant chew toy ran back into the house, allotting him with the sudden urge to continue their minor game. Hm, he had to come up with a punishment for her knee, always trying to find a method to mistreat his balls.

He made his way to his front door, opening it reveal a light-less room. His shadow stretched across the floor standing in the entryway. Gray eyes narrowed in concentration to single out the cat hiding in the dark.

"Here pussy, pussy, pussy," he called, raising his nose in the air to pin-point where her scent loitered the strongest. "I've got some warm milk for you. You don't want it to get cold, now?"

A floating mixture of blackberries and copper filtered in his nostrils, telling him her presence leaned inside the kitchen. With his sight roaming his surroundings he walked to the dining room, noting the meager red droplets on the floor made fresh by her stomach wounds. His feet stayed light and soundless, edging closer to the wall in preparation to counter her strike.

He liked the chase she gave him, ignorant in filling his thirsting desire for the thrill of a hunt. When he let the average frail gain a chance to escape, he drifted into his predatory mindset―to search, to stalk, to kill. It became a one-sided game where the rising urges to conquer his prey left him pining for more. None of the women he captured upheld the stamina to keep him entertained. This Anaya might have what it takes to fulfill his becoming need.

With a salacious leer on his face he quickly advanced around the corner, eyes adjusting to the woman-less area her scent originated. There could be two other places she fled to; the kitchen behind the counter and the basement.

In the midst of taking another inhalation a sharp slice cut into his ankle, deep enough to make him lean against the wall. That provided a nifty little trick up her sleeve. Even more of a surprising venture endured her ability to hide so suddenly.

The credit he gave her diminished thereafter; she charged at him after her immediate sneak attack. Instead she should've stayed hidden in the dark, implementing buried cuts across his tendons to limit his advancements upon her.

Nice gimmick, albeit a moronic effort. Chuckling to himself, he decided to humor her useless onslaught while the cut sealed. Though minimally incapacitated, he knew she wouldn't be able to cause harm on his person.

Anaya charged him, a chef's knife aimed at the ready to pierce him in the neck. She figured hiding in the opaque setting ordained to give her the advantage to confuse him. She thought in quick action to scamper under the table, after securing a random knife in her grasp. It will break up his sight when he came in her direction. To her amazement, he didn't detect her presence so close to where she hid, prompting her to aim at the tendon in his anklebone.

_Take that you bastard!_ Her mind reveled in the triumph of his flinching, jerking as if bitten by a snake. Fueled by her small victory she assumed it crucial to continue to strike the main ligaments and arteries while he rested in a stunned state. Too bad her intention to stun him in his neck went away when he caught her wrist.

"And here I believed that you were actually smart for a change."

Her irrational reaction overrode the dismay on her face, switching the knife to her left hand at another try to stab him. Anaya grunted in aggravation when he held her other wrist, planning ahead of her ideas.

Her skin grew hot with the inability to hurt him, teeth gnashing together with her frustration lashing out, bringing her knee up to jolt him there. He seized her leg in between his lower thighs, giving her a complimentary laugh, the scene reminded him of their 'date' in the alley.

"That's great," he crooned with his eyebrows raised, acting impressed with her ability to execute defensive tactics. He continued, "You got any more tricks hiding in you?"

With her wrists captured in each of his hands and one of her legs practically useless, she had little else to try and kill him with; the knife slipping out of her hand. Rearing her lips back she bared her choppers, lunging forward with enough speed to catch him unprepared, biting into his cheek as a thin cut oozed a trail of red. Her initial reaction of his retaliation included him snapping her bones. Instead the idiot laughed, dark chortles rising heavy within his chest to spill out his mouth.

"Bitch, do you plan on chewing me to death?" he held off on breaking into a fit of boisterous giggles at her failed plans. Since her weapon dropped to the floor her threat level went from a tame house cat to a rambunctious kitten.

Taken aback by his smug demeanor she increased her efforts to dodge his hold, fangs elongating to pierce him any and everywhere she could touch. Unfortunately he took this like a game, Victor licking and biting her in retaliation to the spot she intended to nick him.

A time or two he caught her lower lip, holding it between his teeth to suckle on it. She twisted and wriggled in his grasp, shouting venomous words the longer he delivered long licks and nips to her face and neck. Her pride urged her to continue to fight against him, irritated at how he got off on excessive violence and sex.

Growing tired of the 'foreplay' he forced upon her he grabbed both of her flailing arms in one hand, letting the robe to fall open. He didn't let go of her leg, knowing her to keep on with her pitiful kicks. In her plight to detach herself he detected a familiar hormonal twang rising from her scent, inhaling the succulent musk.

"Get off me you asshole!" she shouted, inhales coming in shorter spurts after her efforts to do anything harmful lacked results. Slitted, purple irises looked upon his expression, beholding an intense gaze, accompanied by a ghost of a smile upon grasping her. The longer she stared at him the more her defensive maneuvers decreased, her body pent-up with hard tension. Perhaps she presumed he came to cognitive wisdom, realizing she did not want this however weak her reason.

The simple sounds of crickets chirping and her labored breath reached her ears. The noise diminished as the mutants stood there, Anaya unsure of what to do next. Their scuffle should have made her reach for her keys jangling in his pocket.

He licked the side of her face in joyous content, leaning to her ear to revel in her discreet secret.

"You smell a bit... horny," he whispered in a husky voice, rubbing his nose along the length of her neck. He pressed harder into her bare front, letting his hardness be known to her. "Go with the flow, remember?"

"I said no," she shook a little.

"The hard way it will be, then."

Her struggle resumed, albeit much more brittle now by trying to kick him in his knee with her free leg. A solid punch connected to the area where his fingers punctured her insides, catching her off guard, bending her over the dining table. Anaya lifted off the wooden foundation but found herself incapacitated, Victor slamming her head to cease her movements.

Those pain-filled hisses she exhaled drove straight to his prick, urging him to see what other sounds authorized to come out of her plush mouth. "Isn't this better-" he gloated, lips leading a light trail to her back, stopping every few inches to nip a slight bite to her skin, "-just lying calm and relaxed while I fuck you?"

He kicked her legs open, unzipping and pulling down his pants just enough to let his sex escape the jean confines. Her pheromones blossomed stronger from her widened limbs, enabling a broad smile to accompany the excitement waiting to invade her tight, warm cavern. Defiant to the end she remained to stay, but he roamed in a confident disposition that her body will bow to his ministrations.

If only the beating of metal wings veering closer to his place of residence hadn't distracted him.

Looking through the kitchen window he eyeballed a dimmed light peeking over the high trees, casting eerie shadows blanketing the forest. Disbelief simmered in his being then boiled over into anger; his extra-curricular activity endured another interruption.

The blood which engorged his length flowed towards his brain, in the beginning formations of receiving a migraine of immense proportions. What the fuck did Stryker want that the other dicks can't do? The delusional vixen must have heard the whirlwind blades slicing the sky coming near the house, murmuring her words in query.

"Friends of yours?" she sputtered out, in the mixture of finding her fire and passing out.

"More like cordial adversaries," he growled, tucking himself back in before he confronted his boss. If he fucked her right there he'd only take the edge off, abandoning his satisfaction and yearning a more powerful release. Stryker better have a valid reason to interrupt him when his Korean lap dog or that wack job Wade should suffice enough.

Speaking furthermore on interruptions, what can he do with his subtly horny mutant? She didn't seem keen on leaving without him telling her the way out, and her energy drove away from her. Notwithstanding, Victor stocked up on fresh venison so a possibility lingered that she might borrow packages of the meat when she left this place. A high doubt pressed on she wouldn't go with him of her own will on another assignment.

"If I'm not back to continue your massage in one minute, make yourself decent, somehow."

He walked outside with a deep grudge settled on his nerves, still shirtless with red-stained hands. The helicopter landed, streaming the breezy forest air swirling the essence of pine and cedar around his build.

A metal door opened, revealing that moronic mercenary with a mouth, followed by the colonel. The two approached the feral, standing unamused at their incessant presence.

"Evening Victor," Stryker said, undergoing a mild observance of the automobile as he passed it; the classic beauty shining bright in the nightly rays. He peeked inside the American original as he spoke, "We weren't able to contact you so we had to come up here and check on your well-being."

The feral mutant didn't want to be bothered while at home; thus the reason he took off his radio.

"You know I really hate having my pizza time cut short just to chase the house cat; it's not fun at all man." Wade groaned, looking scraggy and unkempt in baggy cargo pants and a sleeveless red shirt; katanas missing from their designated spot. Stryker wore a black three-piece suit with a silver trench coat and matching gloves.

"Well, I'm alive now, so don't worry anymore and leave." Victor turned to go back into his house.

"You see there, I told you the kitty lounged in his favorite spot... way in the middle of no damn where." The mercenary glanced around in cautious inspection, taking in the citizen-less area surrounded by various trees and rocky cliffs. He always knew Victor and his brother dabbled in the 'nature boy' life from the start, but this isolation is a tad extreme. "Can I return to my pizza, now?"

"That's good you're safe Victor-" the chief said, migrating to his soldier, reaching in his pocket to hold a picture of the mutant caught in Uruguay. "-but if you answered a while back I wouldn't have to appoint you to this emergency assignment."

There it is. That was his intention from the beginning. Lately Stryker wouldn't put his trust into his other soldiers, what with the increased missions given to him. Along with the decreased personal time in-between.

“That assignment's gonna have to wait, I already got another job." This job is much more entertaining at the moment, he added as an afterthought. Granted he could please himself with the supple flesh of any woman, but the stamina levels of the average female wouldn't sustain his fulfillment. After all the kidnapping and fetching ordered of him, he needed a fucking break.

"Oh?" The old man feigned a surprise expression, hands positioned behind his back, turning to face the helicopter. "Is that so, Victor? Tell me, does this current employer hold the same worth after the object you fancy after? Do they possess the same resources to succeed to verifying your wishes?"

"Do one of those wishes include a running sink or gloves so he can keep playing with his bucket of paint! Jeez, _look_ at his hands," Wade said exasperated, lips pulled downwards upon seeing Victor's bathed-in-blood appearance. Did he butcher a poor animal or is he in the midst of torturing one? The old man pivoted and scanned his stained palms, raising a questioning eyebrow at the display.

Well this is splendid. Why didn't Stryker think it suitable to let his favorite errand boy receive any proper rest? Even more unnerving provided the smug tone in which the colonel spoke to him. No mortal alive dared to utter words in a tone as brash as Stryker claimed.

In true habit, instinct directed to gouge his eyes. Followed up by ripping out his throat, to snatch out his tongue then shove it down his bloodied, open column. For years his natural reaction called to return the dark pitches of voice onto the antagonist with physical demonstrations.

Unfortunately he had to curb his desires to acquire the substance from the old man, verified to make him a potent killing machine. The prospect of the indestructible metal alloy they found in Africa promised convincing properties ordained to increase his physical body to enjoy the work he did indefinitely. To achieve this goal his social skills made him lower his resistant level to a tame tiger. A tiger waiting on the impending opportunity to break free from his cage to bite off the hand that fed him.

Underneath the colonel's façade lied a bleak, sniveling coward without his power. Living as a pathetic clown with nothing to cling to except his inept morals and ideals. If the very people he hired turned against him, he'd be nothing above scum. But prior to Victor freeing himself from Stryker's exasperating hold, he needed to play the part of the docile wild cat until the chance to attack came.

"Get on with it,” he hissed out, nails digging into his palm to quell the infuriating weight inside his core.

"Mission briefing will commence once we leave-"

"Then I can go back home now? There's a marathon of Thundercats and I have to see it. I can't let the Lion-O down. Hey Vic, can I-"

"Fuck you," he answered in a growl, returning to his house, leaving the two men to wallow in their thoughts.

"Why can't I watch your TV until you're finished? It's not like you're here most of the time anyway..."

"Get back to the chopper, Wade."

He scoffed. "I need an answer from him. He didn't answer yes or no yet."

"Well then, perhaps you will find a suitable result when his fist answers your question." The boss voiced out with traces of amusement, eyes set in a frosted glare to silence the merc.

Wade huffed at his command, moaning his disappointment of his enforced leave to scuttle across the world for... well he didn't know why. Mission briefings stayed behind closed lips and the unfairness of it all tired him more often than not. When he found some alone time, he had to be whisked away into the heavenly body to chop this up and kidnap that thing.

He didn't mind the jobs, they entertained him, at times, but not when interrupted from his cartoons. Dark curses muttered under cold breath, stomping back to the metal bird, complaining about old men and their misunderstanding of the youth.

The veteran ignored the mercenary, giving his full attention to Victor and his need to take a vacation. Usually he'd be content to receive an assignment but the last few missions the colonel noticed his unwarranted hesitation.

Did someone else contact the feral for a job? Otherwise what might be the reason for him to nearly cancel these opportunities? He gave consideration to the suggestion that Victor could be bought off if anyone should request his services. Perhaps he should give the feral mutant a reminder or two about who offered him another chance at life. He should implement cautionary examples of what will happen should he ever double-cross him.

Deciding to wait in the helicopter he stopped in mid-stride, hearing the distinct cry of a female and then a dull thud. A thought flashed across his mind as to the validity of denied appearances from the mutant. Is it possible that Victor's odd behavior came from his secret indulges in the affairs of a woman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters take a while to edit, especially since have a thousand ideas jumping around in my head. I'll be working on more chapters in the meantime!


	8. Unclaimed Prize

Gentle vibrations rocked Anaya out of her enforced slumber, slow to fix her hearing to subtle voices murmuring in the distance. Vaguely she pin-pointed her captor's agitated tone near her, followed by a more humored bystander talking. A lot.

She kept her form motionless, now fully awake to listen in to the argument brewing into an all-out conflict, and maybe, she hoped, to find out just where they were taking her.

“You seem... nervous.” She heard a man jibe, the sarcasm in his voice all too apparent while the rustling of a bag reached her ears. The smell of corn chips invaded her nostrils, refraining from giving away her position by snorting out the drifting scent. “Is it because you got caught with your pants down... well hers really.”

She forgot about her lack of clothing, wondering which way she faced and how many people are on board, she presumed, the helicopter. Concentrating, she wrapped her hearing around the steady lapping of four individual heart beats, and one that pumped in fury.

“Yes Victor. I'm surprised you would bring an... escort along.” There held a note of distaste in an older-sounding voice.

How rude! If only he knew the bullshit she had to put up with to make her dress in this get-up. Somehow she believed this stern man wouldn't take pity on her, else she would have seen a hospital or the like. Or told her kidnapper not to seize her.

“Oh, she's not an escort,” she heard her captor―now known to her as Victor―say with something akin to... pride? Is he reveling in delight of triumph over her? Like he claimed her person as a feat only he could do?

The thought formed a heavy emotion suffocating her lungs, everything over the past few days racing through her mind in the form of a mocking slap to her face. The fault lied with her stubborn and naïve decisions, foolishly ignored in striving to elude him with womanly wiles. None of these “adventures” would settle in her memories if she escaped in the alley.

He continued. “She's this feisty little minx of a mutant I discovered.” Anaya felt him rubbing her backside. He cherished the feel of her, the _claim_ of her.

“A mutant?” the old-sounding man perked up, sudden with interest.

“From what she told me, she can recall memories from your past by sucking your blood like a vampire. Come to think of it, she's more like one than anything else.”

“Interesting.”

A full minute passed in silence, feeling their stares upon her without causing movement, striving to appear unconscious The mutantess waited on the old man to make a statement, trying to see if he still assumed her in the likeness of a harlot. Extending her telepathic grip she found the psychic pulses belonging to his brain and probed his conscious, quickly retreating because he had the mind of a monster.

_Can we use her in the Weapon X program? Does she have powers I can control? How much does she know if Victor told her anything, though it seems unlikely. Does she possess the powers of a full vampire―a mutant yes but a vampire? Teleportation would be beneficial for Weapon XI, if she has it. Perhaps Victor saved me the trouble of finding one. Yes, she shall make a fine addition. We'll keep her in the electric holding cells._

What the hell is the 'Weapon X' program? What's 'Weapon XI'? Why did he seem so... eager in getting closer to the way her powers worked? Most of all, the reason for her mounting stress, what is up with this belief that she would be held captive―in an electricity-based prison? Who is he and why did he want control over her?

“Why don't you let me watch over her for another day? See how she checks out before you transfer her to the island.”

“Ew, considering what you _were_ up there doing with her, I don't think she wants you hovering anymore.” The sarcasm lost its bite, but tinges of disbelief and repulsion coated his tone.

“Why is that, Wade?” Victor challenged, Anaya feeling the ends of the robe lift off her legs. “Are you mad that I've seen more pussy than you in those magazines you jack off to?” Her feet threatened to twitch when a light breeze skimmed across her now-exposed genitals. The sickening thud of her heart was sure to give away her secret of being awake.

“Victor!” The old man bellowed, sharing the same sentiments that this 'Wade' person held. He waited a moment before the thick cloth covered her once more. A pressuring tension remained heavy in the air, a deafening silence settling around them.

“Oh no, Vic! Of course not. You see, I think I've seen _twice_ as much as you. I barely smile and the girlies come flocking. You on the other hand well, you attempt to smile and they flee. Far and fast until they make the _right_ turn on Albuquerque.

Victor gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Don't try to act so tough Wade, really. If given a choice, the best you can do is pick up a Nancy-boy wishing he had a vagina.”

“Hm, maybe I've been going at this all wrong-”

“Clearly,” Victor snorted.

“I should be asking how much legit pussy you've seen. You know, leaving the frillies the option of not letting you see it instead of you lifting up their skirts to look anyway.”

Anaya sensed Victor's heart beat increasing. This 'Wade' guy seemed to have hit a nerve. It was unknown whether Victor's insides prickled from being annoyed at Wade's truthful words, but he barely contained himself to pounce on him with murderous intent.

“Did I get it right, V? Is that... that the reason no woman would like you cause you smack them around? Or maybe that's the only way to make them notice you since punching girls is the only thing you're good at.”

Scraped metal rung in her ears, followed by the sound of folded steel clashing with what she presumed to be flesh. The aroma of fresh blood made her thirst for its taste, reaching a becoming hunger rising from inhaling the fervent liquid. Purple, slitted eyes caught scarce movement among the quarreling figures, amidst the shouting coming from their leader.

Soon a gunman pointed two pistols at the battling men, aimed in line with their heads now that the senior yelled in anger. “The both of you stop it and sit down!”

“You really think that's going to stop me, Zero,” Victor said in dark mirth, pointedly ignoring the request demanded of him.

“Yeah Z, what's stopping me from slicing that gun right out of your hand?”

“That's enough, dammit. The both of you sit down. Right now!”

Several seconds passed, the mounting tension still spiking in the air, hovering like a thick cloud ready to send jolts of lightning down. Before it struck though, the three men returned to their respective seats, eyeing each other like wild cats arguing over a kill. Nevertheless, Wade had to have the last word.

“Ah, it doesn't matter. Chicks dig swords. I have two of them. Any argument you brag about with the ladies... hmph, invalid.”

A deep and low chuckle echoed in the helicopter. Feeling his presence next to her she closed her eyes in mock sleep. She heard that laugh before, the one where it concealed his virile rage waiting to maul his opponent in bloody glee.

Their egos confronted each other on a regular basis, based on her assumptions of their interactions. Judging by the way this Wade guy spoke, perhaps... and this is a long shot, he can help her escape if she couldn't herself. It didn't seem like him and Victor were on friendly terms at all. If an opportunity presented itself where she exploited his disdain towards Victor, he might feel empathy for her and her situation. And that's a _big_ might.

Who knows, he might be crueler than Victor.

Something heavy leaned against her shoulder creeping towards her chin; treading fingers gently brushed her hair back from her face. A voice full of wicked amusement grazed the shell of her ear, making her toes twitch in alarm.

“Don't even think I'm falling for that. I _know_ you're awake.”

* * *

Anaya floated through a sea of darkness, feeling weightlessness filling a void as consciousness returned. Purple eyes flooded open, mindful to be wary of her surroundings. She detected no one near her save for a lone heartbeat. From what she gathered, they no longer roamed the skies, hearing the wind outside howling against the surface of the helicopter.

“Hey... hey I know you're awake.”

Her body tensed, panic coursing through her now that someone saw her move, though the voice she sensed she hadn't heard before. He sounded worried, frightened even, like he geared to do something he may get killed for. Could he... empathize with her by the tone of his voice? Is it too much to hope pending her liberation aided by his intervention?

With careful movements she opened her eyelids, sitting up slowly in light of her spine ebbing in discomfort. After Victor whispered his statement in her ear he pressed some tranquilizer to her back, forcing her to return to unconsciousness. She looked upon the man with reservations, taking in his lithe frame and short stature. His brown eyes held sympathy, sitting tense and alert in the pilot's seat.

“How'd you 'meet' Victor?”

A note of understanding gripped his voice, alluding to his comprehension of how much a hassle Victor could be. She wanted to ask him the 'whys' and 'whats' about their livelihoods, but time flashed by. If he had a soul and showed pity towards her, then she would gladly use that to her advantage.

The idea of killing him skittered across her thoughts. It would be so easy to claw his throat, watching rivulets of blood stream down his front, laving up the nourishment. As appealing the notion seemed, she couldn't let loose just yet. What if those men stood outside waiting on her or using him as an act to test her abilities?

“Where am I?”

“We're on the outskirts of the city, at an abandoned warehouse.”

He spoke with a charming Australian accent, covered by the vaguely-stressed voice he conversed with. An uncomfortable silence stretched, the man tapping his fingers against the chair and Anaya waging on running out the door.

“They'll be back soon...”

“... So you're letting me free? Should I trust you?”

“No.” He looked away in shame, eyes held downcast to hide the emotion swimming in them. “But I do know the road I'm traveling will come to an end, so you should go. Now.”

Is he having an epiphany on his life's history? Is he feeling guilty because of her situation? Did they... practice in these methods, kidnapping mutants like her to whatever island they kept in secrecy and harmed them? Well it certainly fit the bill of what Victor presumably did, if he went around collecting people like a bounty hunter. How sickening.

The echo of gunshots erupted, Anaya turning her head to look out the small window, seeing a tall, abandoned-looking building off to the distance, lights brightening the mysterious structure while the sound of screaming men reached her ears. She flinched, the sympathetic man traveling a short distance to the door, making a gesture to leave.

He might be lying, siding with Victor by having a tranquilizer hiding on his person if she awakened. Then again, he could have shot her if he thought she would attack. Perhaps his sincerity was genuine in his meaning, wanting to prevent a burden from weighing down on his conscious of her captivity. Those other mutant fucks didn't have a heart, and it seemed like he wanted to keep his.

With her guard set on high Anaya wrapped the only piece of clothing tightly around her, brows drawing together to step outside the metal bird. Her first instinct called to lave at the sensation roiling through her, invisible shackles once placed upon her now rattling to the cold ground. But she shouldn't celebrate yet. She loitered in the range of her kidnapper and his brute strength. Sure she can outmaneuver him and his clutches without hassle... if she had her wits about her and operated at full health.

Sinking her teeth into the small man garnered no trouble, the feel of warm blood filling the empty spaces missing in her frame. It could all be so simple, just a quick nip from her canines into him then she can vamoose.

Isn't that train of thinking the reason she got captured?

Inhaling the metal-infused air she scanned the unfamiliar surroundings combing through her sight. A wary eye kept him in her peripheral vision, careful to heed his actions. Anaya hadn't a clue about where she would go, but anything would be better than staying with them.

“There's a road up ahead, you should... go that way.”

Anaya stopped, the bridge of her forehead narrowing following the pregnant pause in his words. She glanced back, seeing a palm covering his mouth. A lone finger pointed in the route of the _gunfire_. She gazed in the beaten path of where he first told her to go. Squinting, she saw a clearing a few yards heading north, yellow rectangles reflecting on the road to guide her out of here. Before she could ask his meaning he returned inside the helicopter, leaving her all on her lonesome.

The wind picked up, blowing the scents of metal, iron, and if she sniffed hard enough, blood. The moon provided scarce light, creating new shadows and dark patches of disfigured shapes. Hardened dirt pressed into her bare feet, listening to the concoctions of crickets and owls in the night.

Five minutes later she approached a winding road, sticking to the coverage of trees when the wind shifted. Natural and earthy aromas billowed around her, carrying a familiar masculine and pine cone musk; leading her with a physical memory she wanted to forget. Her temperature spiked, sweat roaming on her brow in remembrance of her recent abduction.

She thought the man who released her lost a few brain cells, telling her to go _in_ the path of the gunfire to get away.

And he was right.

He knew she headed towards a trap, making a silent gesture in the right way to travel. She should have known it wouldn't be easy to evade her way through this, relying on her own judgment to vanish from here.

_Run you fool!_

Listening to her instincts she turned left, legs pumping in haste to steer clear of his clutches. Naked feet stepped on soft and hard soil, maintaining her speed while gnarled cherubs snagged on the robe. Cold air whipped over her face, the whiff of dark earth and pine cones settling thick in the atmosphere.

Though the warehouse stood a half a mile from her location it felt like bullets rang right past her. Flashes sparked inside the building, shrill screams and the echoes of casings dropping to the floor, turning her head in its direction. The lapse in attention smashed her legs against a hard surface, stumbling over a fallen tree log, using the forward momentum to catch herself yet she landed on her side.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You frails are really good at that.”

The voice jump-started her into sitting upwards, leaning against a tree to gaze at her kidnapper, her breathing hard and forced.

Victor stepped over the fallen log then sat on it, ankles crossed and hands intertwined. His face sat in a composed expression yet his ablazed eyes held something deep within, intently focused on her.

“You trip and fall over shit and I'm starting to consider you do it on purpose,” he scratched an eyebrow in thought, lips pursing on her surprised form. “Do ya'll want to be captured and this 'running away' thing is a ploy?”

“How...how can you be here-”

“-right on your tail?” He finished the sentence. “I waited for you by the road. I just knew you'd be coming my way. So imagine, much to my elated surprise, when you started running in another trail. Naturally you would have fled when we met, but I like it when a girl gives chase.”

The others busied themselves capturing a host of armed mutants, Victor leaving Zero and Wade to handle the lot. After killing a few himself he cut off his ear piece, thinking his untamed kitty would provide better sport. Upon entering the metal bird he saw Bradley's eyes widen, body temperature rising over his intimidating presence. It amused him how the little man put on a brave front, stilling his motions to appear calm. Yet the salty stench he emitted told otherwise.

He asked the electricity-based mutant to let her go, to point her towards the road when she awakened... if she didn't rip Bradley's throat out first. Such a pity she didn't.

“Shouldn't you, you know, start running again? Just when I got a thrill you stumble and fall,” he snorted, rolling his eyes.

Her legs trembled, urging her to run but they stayed rooted to the ground. Thoughts scrambled across her mind, injecting a hundred different inputs to do at once. If she ran again he would catch her, a wild cat torturing his food before killing it. Not moving at all would send her to that mysterious island, enduring unethical testing and unjust imprisonment because of what and who she is.

“I'm giving you a chance for a head start. But when those guns stop firing, I'll have to take you-”

An odorous incense invaded his olfactory networks, expanding his senses to pin-point the invasive presence. His nose lifted into the air, opening his nostrils to locate where the bloody, sweaty odor resonated strongest. Her jittery form shook in silence, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action. Perhaps by focusing on his female distraction too much, another one snuck upon him that fled the warehouse.

Hell, his monotonous routine of 'catch and kill' began to wear him out, the target putting up a weak fight and it left him with angsty potency. So if this sneaky bastard sought to challenge him by using stealth attacks, then so be it. He needed a change of pace.

Anaya's mind screamed at her to use his diversion to her advantage, finding the masked courage to stand on restless feet. She didn't know what he smelled nor did she care to find out, her senses smothered in uncontrolled shaking and taut muscles to register anything. If she wasn't so drained and weak at the moment...

Her eyes couldn't process what happened. Victor stumbled backwards when a large sphere of air hit him on his side, claws sinking into the softened clay to stop his spiraling momentum. Another man emerged from the thicket of bushes, covered in dark, baggy clothing. She squinted to see a pale face buried in light blue scars, glowing brighter in trek to Victor's location.

The feral tilted his head when he stood upright, brushing the excessive dirt from his clothes. Unfazed by the blast he took Victor rolled his shoulder in ease, inhaling once before his profile became a blank expression. “Hmph, you again. How sloppy of me. I guess I didn't kill you hard enough in the chest.”

Needing no further invitation her feet took the reigns of control, carrying her build in swift haste through the woodlands. Sharp whispers of air and dark curses waged war in the wind, creating a malevolent symphony in the night. As the noises grew in volume she sprinted to the two-lane road, opaque and without illumination to aid her faltering vision. A light-headedness rose from the pounding excitement, a spiking coldness spreading through her form made by the lack of sustenance.

Darkness encircled her, inescapable with its reaching arms to pull her back in. But she pushed forward, determined to avoid the oppressive forces intent to enslave her in view of vain purposes: the old fuck to take mutants and Victor to satiate his twisted pleasures.

A deafening silence settled behind her, leaving the accompaniment of her harsh breathing as companionship. Crickets and owls no longer left their sounds to complement the night, quiet to the world as if afraid to speak. But she knew the sound and what happened.

A large predator roamed in their midst, the beastly presence struck fear into those it wouldn't bother to eat. They waited in silence, watching the hunter preparing to make its charge, morphing its anatomy into a vehicle of destruction.

The creature anticipated on the right moment to press down on the gas to run her over.

Her legs picked up in speed, arms pumping to increase the space between her and Victor. If her lungs burst from exhaustion then she didn't care. As long as she avoided his clutches, death would be a nice reprieve, though not until her legs stopped functioning.

She ducked under several overhanging limbs, branches protruding deep into the road. Twigs bit into her face, leaving angry red lines to trail down her cheeks. Rocks pierced into the soles of her aching feet, all to slow her pace but she let the pain fuel her.

She approached a poorly-designed four-way intersection, the east and westward streets never tasting the construction of cement. Wayward tire tracks skidded in lazy directions, covering the rough, asphalt roads laying to the north and south. In the sky above the quarter moon shone through, dark clouds winding past the sliver of light before parting an open window to let the lunar body radiate. The opening cast its dim radiance on the eastern road, seeing two lights and a trailing bale of a dust storm.

Could that be a car? Is this some sign whatever holy entity sent to her or is this a lucky break? She didn't know whether to cry or laugh while the thought of being saved elated her spirit. Instead she belted a scream of internal anguish when she glanced behind her.

A dark figure leapt in long strides to reclaim her.

“Hurry,” she shouted at the speeding vehicle, noting its erratic swaying, like the person drove drunk or carelessly. Anaya didn't know how she would alert the driver to save her and to keep on driving by a hairsbreadth of Victor's claws. Withal, anything would be better than staying here.

The two moving forces traveled at the same speed, bound to reach her at the same time. Her head wanted to implode from the mounting weight resting on top, expelling the tension in manic breaths. Victor would probably snatch her first to pull her out of the driver's field of vision, perhaps killing the motorist if they stopped to assist. Anaya entertained the notion to think she was better off laying unconscious in the chopper.

At least she wouldn't feel the need to drop dead.

The driver came into view, a man short and plump steered a truck around forty miles per hour. Instead of going to the intersection like a normal person he cut the corner to drive on the road driving north.

Her swelled and bruised feet liked to have a mind of its own, moving at a diagonal route. Her ears heard the sound of raspy growls and clacking nails on the asphalt, sensing her predator looming in her vicinity. She extended her forearm to the vastly speeding pickup, her opportunity to escape gaining a greater distance.

Veiled shackles crept their way upon her skin, wrapping around her frame to hold her captive. At every turn her goal of victory slipped through her fingers, reaching an unattainable sample of free will. How foolish of her to believe she could leave. Nothing can be so simple, destined to unravel at the seams by the ravenous cat enjoying the thrill of wreckage. Victor won.

_No! Fuck that!_

An indescribable pool of vitality sprouted through her limbs, prickling the nerves inside to spark jolts of life into her. Focusing, she gathered power in her feet, heading towards a thicket of trees lining the road going north. In her peripheral vision she recognized the male mutant one leap away from pouncing on her, extended nails sharp and ready to pierce into her flesh.

And he might have if her feet didn't lift off the ground and push against a tree.

The momentum catapulted her into the air in alignment of the truck, landing in the bed of the pickup with a hard thud.

“Whoa there ol' Yeller!” The voice of an old man speaking in an English dialect said.” These shocks of yers are bouncin' tonight!” The driver boasted, laughing in a hearty wheeze.

It took a moment to realize she wasn't under some hulking beast, looking up into the starry-lit night. Anaya sat upright, clutching her shoulder after landing on a crate of carrots. Biting pain tore through her arm, teeth clattering in ache but in a comforting sense she was fine with that. An inanimate object hurt her rather than an animate being treating her like a weak toy.

Tepid hues of moist orchids locked onto angered, slate-toned eyes, narrowed and pointed in seething anger. He froze in the position he would have caught her in, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. Relief should have flooded through her with elation and hope yet it never came. Her burning tendons and dry mouth worked to align her body back to normalcy. She believed he would give chase again but he stopped, her vision beheld in his vengeful fixation.

Perhaps it hasn't sunken in. Victor's control had no reign over her, free (and very lucky) to be alive without his presence invading her soul. Whatever person who attacked Victor met his end in haste no doubt, the robust man pumped on the quick kill then using that energy to expel on her.

Anaya wanted to scream, yell or howl in a bray of laughter, exclaiming to the world how she survived the beast's onslaught, bruised and beaten but otherwise okay. Never again will he harm her for his selfish indulgences, stopping her drive to defy his momentum. A warm glow ignited from her belly but it soon chilled, remembering what she came in. If he felt the need he could hop in that helicopter and track her down, leaving her with a false hope on her departure.

Mutants of different creeds focused on the other until the truck disappeared into another winding road. A niggling feeling in the back of her head told her that this break would last temporarily, forcing her into hiding. Yet she couldn't do such a thing. He has her scent, her taste. In his core essence he could trail in her path, soon to be reunited with her.

The heavy clouds covered the slim moon until a dark blue blanket swallowed the land, choking the light in a silent death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh Anaya, if only your writer wouldn't be so cruel in giving you a break. I wonder why I make the characters go through drama and stuff. Oh well, everything can't be peaches and cream, especially concerning Victor, lol


	9. To Catch A Break

“I see you've let your half-dead bird fly away,” Stryker said with a banal tone, weary eyes watching over four mutants bound on their knees with Victor making his way over to him.

General Munson had tipped off the colonel concerning mutants who had escaped custody, hiding in an abandoned warehouse after they infiltrated a secret government bunker. Inside the dry-rotted building, papers detailing their findings littered the tables. Plans written to overthrow officials against mutant rights smudged an old chalkboard, down to the minute detail of how it needed to happen.

Stryker reeled in his sentiments over the pathetic display. How can mutants expect rights when they committed violent acts against humans? Just the other day a mutant attacked a human woman simply because she walked on the other side of the street to avoid the mutant's suspicious aura. How many more incidents like this should occur in order for the rest of the congressman to put mutant laws into effect?

“Look at this,” Stryker motioned to the detainees, a ridiculing sneer crossing his face. “This is getting out of hand, such a waste to kill them when they harbor such magnificent powers.”

Victor gave an alligator's rotting carcass about the mutants Stryker nagged about, simmering in quiet rage over his prized capture alluding his grasp at the last possible second. He surprised himself by reigning in his murderous intent, the urge to expel his frustration _maddened_ him.

“Just like your captive, Victor,” he turned to face his soldier, his defined jaws tightened with strain. “How soon will it be until she exposes us? We are... non-existent in this world, a ghostly hand that deals with any threat in the dark...”

Aw fucking hell.

How many times did he have to bring up another one of his 'failure isn't an option' speeches like a parent berating a child? It wasn't often, if ever, that he let his quarry escape; leaving none alive to tell their tales. So unless he had a point to make in all this he wouldn't stand around and listen.

“Is there a point in all this?” Victor crossed his arms, eyes pointedly staring ahead, sucking on the inside of his cheek to keep his voice even.

“Yes, there is,” Stryker walked around the captives, placing his hands behind his back. “Remember that... meeting we had with General Munson? Where we discussed plans to re-furnish the military compound up north? The contractor, Mr. O'Dare, showed me the new blueprints; nothing short of amazing...”

He wanted Victor to ask him about the place, what he needed to do with it and what had to be done to get it. His personal missions always started out that way now, Stryker leaving vague hints and purposely omitting the details to make him ask.

“Why are you so happy about it? Is the building adding shit so you can watch all the attractions like a zoo?” Victor jested in dry mirth, wary of an obese mutant shifting from the pressure on his knees.

“Well... yes Victor,” he smiled, finishing his stroll around the prisoners. “If you have noticed there is an increasing mutant problem-” he looked down at the bound men “-and I firmly believe the location will serve as a greater good to the people.”

“You think you can lock us up like animals!” One man bellowed, eyes glazed over in heated rage, or rather one of them did. Victor enjoyed sinking his thumb into this idiot's eyeball after he kept shooting... magma or some shit out of his sockets. Underneath his lower lids a scorched-triangular region served as the area where the fiery liquid receded to―or it did. Victor messed up that part too.

“Trade places with us and see how you feel just because you were born with something you couldn't help!” Another captive snarled, covered in slashes brought upon by that loud monkey of a mercenary.

“You fucks are the reason we fight! We're not the bad guys, _you_ are!”

“Victor!”

A solid knee connected to an open jaw, hearing the bone crack, the vocal protester sprawled to the floor unconscious.

The others quieted their verbal outbursts, defiant eyes lit ablaze of one of their own injured. These militant men who captured them share their biological nature, born with a genetic mutation ignorantly shunned by the masses; but unlike them in their ability to hunt their own in terms of greed.

“Now, like I was saying before the rude interruption, I need you to reclaim that woman Victor. Who knows of the damage she will cause us-”

“None,” he rolled his eyes, a flat tone punctuating his word.

Stryker stood unamused. “And if I may inquire why you think so, Victor?”

“Didn't say shit to her about anything nor has she seen any faces, save for Bradley but he's easily forgettable.”

Why in the hell is he explaining himself to this old coot like a child telling his father about his misgivings? Chances are she wouldn't mention a peep to any authority because she is a mutant. Equality for mutants are just about non-existent. Any physical incidents are swept under the rug and if _they_ are to blame then a hunt to claim their heads commenced.

She had enough brains―hopefully―to keep a low profile. Or dumb enough to seek a fatal revenge against them... on her part.

“Not good enough of an answer, Victor-”

“Nothing ever is with you is it, controlling down to the last detail,” Victor cast a sly glance in the colonel's direction, internally reveling at the dark look crossing his features. “What's with this O'Dare fellow? Another one of your bed mates you want something more from?”

The colonel played it off under a smirk, strolling a little past Victor faced in the opposite direction.

“What do you think they would have done to you and your brother had I not come along? Would you rather be in a controlled setting where they picked and prodded you with no concept of freedom?”

A slow, heated sensation prickled in his chest, spreading downwards to pool deep in his belly, rising like a tidal wave to submerge rational logic. He didn't appreciate someone mentioning his brother to rile or subdue him, creating an opening to test his patience with their snide remarks.

Some day he'll have to figure out why he let Stryker continue to breathe. It wasn't the money because he had so much of it. He had received exclusive offers from certain 'shadow' officials from the government; they'd thought he could serve their purposes better, but Victor wouldn't be able to express himself to his preference. 'Like' and 'Stryker' were not in the same category so that wasn't it either. Steeled gray eyes looked down at the unconscious mutant, Cappuccino-hued complexion reminding him of that deplorable town in Africa where they found a precious metal.

Oh, _now_ he remembered.

“I don't see the point in bringing him up,” Victor snarled a little, speaking in a carefully controlled tone.

“It's just... humbling to remember your beginnings when you lose your place, that's all,” he held his hands loose behind his back, pretending to hold interest in the scenery. “Now, Mr. O'Dare helped in adding compartments to the facility up north but he has this irritating desire to build residential dwellings to expand his empire in the same location. But there is more than enough space here in the United States for his endeavors, don't you think?”

So... the old fart wants him to visit O'Dare because he intended to cut down a few trees where the general wanted to update the facility?

“I believe you should pay him a visit to _persuade_ him to locate his expansion somewhere else.”

Oh, now he got it. Whatever Stryker and his government bed buddies wanted to do they couldn't with O'Dare in their hair. Well persuading people to change their goals he had no problems with. Though to piss the colonel off after that sly comment he should track Anaya down after he talked to O'Dare.

In fact, that's exactly what he'll do.

“I trust your indiscretion has not thrown you off your game, Victor,” Stryker said, turning to see the stocky soldier with an expressionless profile. “Capture her. She cannot expose us.”

“All right, all right,” his eyebrows furrowed, irritance seeping into his core because the old fart nagged about the same command like a broken record.

“Go back to the helicopter, Zero will give you the necessary items to complete your mission.”

Without another word Victor rolled his eyes and turned around, glad to get away from that senile fuck and his faltering faith in his “dream team.” Victor guessed, at some point, that the troop would fall apart; only a matter of time left until it did.

It's natural though, the weakest-willed are the first to quit. Hm, he wondered what made Jimmy's resolve suddenly dissipate?

Zero stood outside the helicopter with a manila folder waiting in his hands, Bradley leaning against the helicopter's door. The feral took the folder without acknowledging the two and looked inside. A false I.D. with his picture on it told of his employment as a government official. He kept his smarts and intuition sharp as the years grew by dealing with Stryker and authoritative figures. Victor knew of their vindictive methods and the extremes they would go through to get something done. Like so, he participated in these mannerisms too, but he wasn't naïve to the concept of betrayal.

A first-class plane ticket to New York rested underneath the card and above two pictures; one of Mr. O'Dare and his bloated, walrus-sized face and of a woman with raven-dark hair and round eyes.

A woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the harlot in that seedy bar, wearing a black top and a camouflage mini-skirt a few days ago.

He felt his lips threaten to split his mouth open, teeth proud and glistening to reveal a sudden giddiness swimming in his gut. Victor couldn't tell if lady luck thought to humor him or if a coincidence came afoot, but this presented a viable opportunity to draw Anaya out if he missed finding her in time.

Closing the folder his feet led him around the helicopter, inhaling the brisk, nutty fragrance and a light sanguine odor, lifting his nose to the breeze swirling about him.

The Korean gunslinger looked upon the feral mutant with a questioning glance, clueless on the reason for Victor's vacancy in the helicopter. Early morning already glowed its sunny rays in New York and taking the scenic route would only waste time.

“There's another bird coming for the rest of the team. I'm to drop you off near the airport.”

“Oh come now Z,” Victor hummed, swiveling his head to the side, glancing beyond his shoulder with his feet trekking deeper into the forest, “You know I prefer the old-fashioned way on a mission. See that's what's wrong with you kids today”―Victor stopped and faced the agent―“You're so in a rush to get things done that you never enjoy the full experience or the thrills.”

“Well, not all of us can thoroughly enjoy ourselves as much as you, Vic.” Zero dragged his words with purposeful intent, knowing how pointless it is to steer the feral against his resolve.

“You should try it more often,” he teased, spinning around to keep on his walk. “You might find a better part of yourself if you let loose. What fun is it if you don't chew on the leash pulling you back?” He left the gunslinger with those parting words, trailing into the thicket of low-hanging branches and thick shrubbery, inhaling the woodsy aromas of the night.

Ten minutes later the feral returned to the spot where his defiant bunny hopped out of his grasp, inhaling her blackberries and vanilla aura buried into the frantic footprints she created. To the common man her trail would have gone cold if they chased after her, lost on their radar until they chanced upon her again.

But not Victor.

Three days could go by and he can still track someone's scent from the particular bodily oils they secreted and her recent departure carried its ripe musk. Leaning on one knee he dug his thick fingers into the soft clay, scraping up a pile to inhale the mingling odors within. Natural elements of the earth coated by the loose gravel stained his nostrils; the dirt pummeled by industrial scents tainting its original smell. He dipped his tongue inside the mound tasting her essence; an internal tracking device should his current search yield no results.

On average his interest in a frail should have waned, finding a new chew toy to gnaw on to humor his sanity. Yet her stubborn wiles and tricky ploys intrigued him, able to keep up with him, though barely, and have his toes tingling with the delight of a chase. Nothing replaces the acrid, despair-ridden pheromones and the damp aroma of a wet pussy when a frail denies him, but Anaya's obstinate ways to submit to her faltering resolve demanded his attention.

The hunter is a strategist at heart, making the prey believe they had control over their options when they expanded the range for the hunter to strike instead. Yes, she posed a minuscule challenge he had yet to mount successfully, entertaining the idea to stalk and follow her now, letting her know that he will claim her no matter how flippant and evasive her tactics may be.

* * *

It's funny how shit can flip on its head without notice.

Bitter disdain accompanied Anaya's reflections, trying to shove the memories into the recesses of her mental prison but it flashed to her mind's forefront. That was such a shitty―what should she call it, a kidnapping?―circumstance that it kept replaying on an endless loop. She didn't know what she had gotten into, but those men―and Victor―had this secret, militant vibe coating their presence and she held no interest in getting involved.

After nearly falling into the brute's clutches and escaping into the bed of a rickety truck, an elated sensation washed over her being then fleeted away, only to return like a yo-yo. With the now-obvious government group Victor worked for she needed to seek hidden shelter, presuming they'll probably want her dead just for seeing them. A niggling feeling told her that Victor's commander would send the brute on her trail, and with his desire to hunt she would be nothing but sport to him.

In a small town the nearly senile and oblivious driver swerved into she had stepped out of the pickup's bed after he went inside a dingy-looking tavern, keeping to the alley shadows so the sparse humans prowling the night wouldn't see her.

Her hunger spiked, demanding some much needed nourishment, searching through the darkened side streets for someone walking near or into them. She entertained the idea to let somebody help her but humans are such ignorant and cowardly creatures they'll probably turn on her with her eye color and fangs. Perhaps even hand her over to the men she expected to reclaim her.

While cradling her sore back a rusted red door opened in the vacant side street she hid in, Anaya ducking behind a putrid-smelling dumpster bin to avoid the civilian's gaze. From the heavy footfalls Anaya believed it to be a male, aided by the hoarse cough and the thick stench of marijuana coating their scent. The person lifted the top of the bin and threw a bag inside with what sounded like old pots.

Broken glass echoed in the grime and oil-slicked alleyway but not from the trash bag hitting the dumpster's bottom, it came from _inside_ the building, followed by men shouting. Frantic footfalls belonging to the mystery trash taker-outer scurried back, Anaya peeking around the bin's corner to see a round, heavy-set man rush through the door.

If she had been on her game she could have charged at the human and supplied her thirst temporarily, though the thick odor of weed sounded unappealing to ingest, However the commotion inside the building should give her a broader range of choices to choose from.

Mustering the last reserves of her adrenaline-induced strength she tip-toed towards the rusted door, hearing angered voices rising in heated exchanges, opening the door to step into a barely lit kitchen. An eclectic mix of herbal seasonings and flavored meats stirred her stomach awake, wanting to stuff her mouth yet time fleeted to capture something more savory.

Muted voices had morphed into emotionally charged words after Anaya squatted near a counter by the stove, listening to what she considered a robbery.

“We told you to get someone else to run this restaurant! No one wants a dyke here negatively influencing our kids!”

Oh... it's one of _those_ attacks.

“The mayor won't do shit about you so we have to step up to the plate,” the country-sounding man said, breath hard and raspy with his venomous words aimed to hurt whom he talked to.

“It's not your place to say where I can set up my business. You're not customers here so it shouldn't matter to you!” A husky feminine voice shouted.

Whoops. Anaya assumed the person who took out the trash was a man because of the cough's deep pitch.

“Trent's daughter is already picking up your habits. She kissed Brady's daughter and they're only fourteen years old! Where in the hell did they learn that except from you?”

“No! Stay away from me-”

A scuffle clamored in the dining room, a vase or a ceramic object dropping to the floor with a loud crack. It sounded like the two men held the woman down, her frantic protests muffled by something covering her mouth.

How repetitive.

Is that the solution to combat a situation where it made someone adamant to stick to their lifestyle when a situation challenged it? Of course it is. Hell, history is full of problems like this, where the majority or a dominant group would rather exterminate anything different from them than use any semblance of logic to understand _why_ they felt that way.

It amazed her how humans can fill their hearts with hatred over something so petty. So... because she lived her life as a different sexual orientation, these simple-minded fucks had the gall to assault her even though they had their own lives to live?

Sucks to be her right now.

Slim fingers covered her sensitive nose and slightly chapped lips after she caught the tantalizing, coppery whiff hovering in the air. If the woman's yelp led to any insight she knew they cut her. Her sobs increased, punctuated by the muffled restraint hindering her cries.

“Shut yer yappin'! Ya brought this upon yerself,” a man with a stiff, gruff tone said, doing something to her to heighten her screams. The captured woman's fear-laced aura mingling with the loud sanguine aroma snuck through Anaya's palms, planting its spice in her nostrils, waiting on them to finish her up to lap her blood.

_Yes, have her suffer like you did when he assaulted you. You two are a match made in Hell!_

The haze she roved under had cracked, allowing her thoughts to sink in, frowning after she realized she indeed sounded like her captor. He reveled in her pain and suffering, laughing at any attempt of hers to stand up to him or plead with him to let her go.

Yet she cared less to bask in the woman's misery, it's just her plasma smelled the cleanest. Mr Country had an acidic tint and Mr. Gruff's carried a thickened odor. Her sights had already chosen the now-injured woman and she didn't feel like changing targets. Anaya only needed about a cup's worth of blood to steer her straight then she'll be on her way.

“Oh man,” an uncontrolled sigh let itself out on a heavy breath, mashing her hands against her cheeks. Interfering had no positive benefits, other than the woman hollering out 'monster' if Anaya offed those two, forcing the vamp-mutant to silence her hysterical screams anyway.

A berating hunger tried to claw its way to her insides, shaming her to let the woman suffer abuse because she lived how she pleased. It ran parallel to Anaya's own mistreatment, Victor glowing in carnal excitement every time he gained an upper hand on her through violence. However she had her mutant powers to see her through the ordeal. Would it be so bad to help a woman from the ever-growing ignorance and harm many men loved to display?

“Victor, you fucking asshole.” She gritted her teeth under her breath, anger bubbling inside her upon recalling his vindictive ways.

Apparently her words came out above a whisper, the door swinging open to reveal a henchman.

A bloody knife gleamed in the dimmed lights of the kitchen, Amethyst-hued eyes trailing up a sleeved-covered arm, finally settling on a narrowed and gray-bearded face. Round eyes sporting irises the darkest shade of emeralds glared in dismal surprise, his tall and slender build tense and strained, prepared to strike if need be.

“What is it, Bill,” the owner of the hoarse voice spoke.

“Just some colored prostitute hiding back here.”

A _what_?!

Anaya failed to process how she made her way to him in half of a millisecond, but one minute his widened eyes couldn't believe his position in the air by his throat and the next on the floor with his neck ripped out.

It seems these upstanding gentlemen cared less to, or flagrantly wouldn't, accept the changing times, pushing their views on what they deemed abnormal to assimilate into their mannerisms. His comment would have rolled off her shoulders but he had to shed the skin off her teeth with that 'prostitute' remark. She would have thrown off this flimsy robe if she had found some clothes but alas she saw no stores around to break in and put something else on.

Grabbing the hunting knife 'Bill' dropped she licked the flat side in obvious enjoyment, shivering when the vital fluid seeped into her tongue. Crackled energy spiked through her, breath heavy and thick with the revitalizing sensation awakening her senses. She wanted more―needed more, craved it for so long she almost forgot what it felt like.

“Bill, what happened?” Gruff's tight voice drew near the door, unsure to what those squelching, choking noises were. “Did she run away or did ya knife her?”

Gruff found himself jerked to the floor after the door swung outwards, dark hazel eyes looking upon a woman with red smudged on her left arm, licking Bill's knife in obvious pleasure. As the door closed his vision located Bill on the floor, staring straight towards the ceiling lying motionless, his blue and white plaid shirt no longer sporting the light colors.

Anaya looked over the small establishment, a woodsy and rustic setting to fit in with the town's rural location. She guessed it was closing time judging by the dirty plates still left out, a cleaning cart sitting by a table the men had obviously disrupted her from doing.

The woman sat tied to a chair with knife wounds littering her arms, medium-bronzed skin polluted with bruises from Bill and Gruff's fear-driven blows. Deep cuts littered her wrist, a steady stream dripping to the floor to pool into a small puddle.

A stream where Anaya unconsciously latched onto its source.

“D-demon. You're a demon!”

Somewhere in-between the woman's pained mumble and Gruff's hysterical outbursts the mutantess threw herself away from the victim's wrist, breathing deep to calm her craving thirst from reaching its peak. Her mouth worked on its own accord, licking, sucking, tasting and savoring the succulent fountain she drank from, letting her malnourished body gain a chance to settle.

Her senses kick-started into overdrive, returning to their original strength after she neglected her hunger, after it dulled with her kidnapping. “Pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?” Anaya closed her eyes to let the filling sensation spread throughout her limbs, hearing the thunderous pounding of frantic hearts coming off the two occupants in thick waves.

Her lids opened, vision sliding over to the sickly, pale-looking man, his hazels wide in disbelief. “Here you are calling me a demon when _you're_ the one slicing someone to death.” Anaya felt her claws extend, shifting towards the woman, cutting the rope trapping her.

Dark brown eyes never left her robe-clad form. The woman shook with uncertainty to yell in fright or express her gratitude, backing over to the counter where the cash register rested, cradling her wrist tight with worry evident on her face.

A small hum escaped Anaya's ruby-stained lips, closing her lids to withhold her blood lust, wanting to drink until she couldn't swallow another drop; to claw her opponents until their suffering amused her. She hadn't indulged in these carnal desires in months, only taking what she needed then going about her day. Yet the intoxicating aromas swirling in her nostrils yielded a need too strong to ignore.

Maybe one more small dose of the refreshing liquid would quiet her urges.

Before she shifted towards the woman a blunt, scraping burn grazed her cheek, head whipping to the side after an echoing bang shattered the tension. It stung, sending her nerves on haywire to alert her to the injury. Slim fingers slid up her bloodied cheek, body moving in a slow turn until she rested on the culprit responsible.

In Gruff's shaking left hand aimed a chrome .357 revolver, smoking vapors rising from the barrel, aimed in alignment with her throat. It seems he planned ahead in case a hiccup thwarted their plans to knife the lesbian to death. How noble of him to stiffen his backbone in such a shitty situation, and how foolish of him to piss her off.

Anaya stepped around the counter, teeth gritted with the feel of her skin knitting the deep gash closed. She wondered if her powers steadied strong enough to function at moderate capacity, wishing to return his friendly gesture upon him.

 _Only one way to find out_.

Her hand wiped away the bloody droplet, taking slow steps in his direction, steeled eyes waiting on his twitchy finger to fire. The moment arrived with the bullet springing from the barrel, Anaya tapping into her natural energies to assimilate her molecules to his right. The bullet planted into the wall where she once stood, Gruff releasing a fresh batch of fright-laced pheromones wafting her way... and the fumes of his thickened blood. He twisted the gun to shoot her again, aim unsteady after her disappearing act unnerved him.

 _Yes, now we're in business_.

She teleported in front of him again, moving one step at a time, assembling her form left or right to avoid the slug. After the sixth shot an empty 'click' echoed in the restaurant, Gruff continuing to pull the trigger, droplets of sweat running down his stocky face. His heart thudded with a violent pounding, shaking in deep tremors over his inability to down this monster.

“You're... you're a mutant...”

“Why yes, I am,” she beamed with confidence, standing in front of his 5'9 frame, soaking up his faltering, cowardly presence. Take away a craven's weapon he uses for immoral purposes and what's left? “And you must be”―she took a glimpse at her fingernails, admiring their sharpened length―“simply trash.”

Four claws raked across his face, a pained howl springing loose from his lips. Crimson trails leaked out of the scratches, Anaya sensed her thirst rising to submerge rational thinking again. Maybe she could let it fly freely this time. It wasn't like this little cockroach didn't deserve it...

Another four scratches would have ripped his skin if five plain-clothes civilians carrying firearms into the restaurant hadn't interrupted. How fun would it be to play with them at the moment, but they shouldered too many guns and teleporting drained what spark of energy she had.

Swiveling her head to give a small wink to the woman, nimble feet carried her to the back door in less than three seconds, dodging whizzing bullets with a humored cackle, feeling a rising rush shooting through her form resulting from their useless chase and surprised yells. She knew they wouldn't catch her, watching them scramble around in terror and disappointment when they lost sight of her. Like so, two of the men twisted around to see where she went, to no avail.

Perched on the rooftop of the restaurant she barely contained her laughter, threatening to expose the tickled giggle urging to explode. Playing this little game suited her fine, a game of tag she always won by default, save for the case a few days ago.

Her jovial mood lessened, sobering from her dazed appetite to remember how these circumstances happened. In her newly regained freedom she had left a stronger, bloodier clue for him to follow her with, leaving her scarce time to put enough distance between them.

With the wind carrying the human's voices through the alley, she left this small detour smothered in rotting garbage and copper behind, hopping from building to building to leave these memories in hopes to never come across them again. Hiding proved her best option until she deemed it safe to prowl the streets once more, and she knew just the place to ride it out until this shit storm blew over.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:Looks like some of Victor's mannerisms are rubbing off on her.
> 
> I think we need an anime/movie based on Sabretooth, don't you think? We're always seeing movies with the “good guys” but why not one for those who are a bit more...unorthodox in their actions, lol.


End file.
